What Shadows Lie
by Synch
Summary: It is a time that will forever alter the lives of LAPD Detectives Gertrude Ransome and Radulf Taylor. In early January, they investigate in an odd series of thefts and murders, culminating in an astonishing revelation.What shadows lie behind their smiles
1. Chapter 1: Murder Most Foul

_**T**__**hey're out there, among us. In the shadows, in the light; we pass them on the street without a glance, never suspecting, never knowing. Do they even know yet that they are bound together for a common purpose, a glaring reality, to be extraordinary? And when destiny does anoint them, how do they hide from it? How long can they dwell in the shadows, before fate, or their own flawed humanity draws them out into the light? And how will they know what awaits them, when it finally does? (Mohinder Suresh)**_

The petite redhead was finishing the last of her morning shower when the bathroom door slammed open. Standing in the doorway was another woman, slightly taller and nearly twenty years older. "You about done in here, Gertrude?"

With a startled squeal, Gertrude, who preferred to be called Tru or Trudy, Ransome ripped the towel off the rack and threw it around her body. When she realized who had barged in, she sighed in exasperation. Shutting off the water, she said, "Christ, Mom. Can't you fucking knock?"

Leaning against the doorframe, her mother, Delilah, smirked. "Why? You think you've got something I haven't seen?"

Stripping the water from her hair, Tru stepped out of the shower and glared at her mother. "That's not the point, and you damned well know it." At the mirror, she ran a comb and brush through her hair. "What do you want anyway?"

"That asshole partner of yours is here. What do you want me to do with him?"

Putting the comb and brush away, Tru turned from her mother and stripped off the towel. After drying herself, she tossed it aside and wrapped herself in a clean one. Heading into her bedroom, she said, "Ray's not an asshole, Mother. He's a good man, and one hell of a cop. When you get right down to it, he's probably a better detective than I am."

Shaking her head, her mother said, "He's a Goddamn man, Gertrude. By definition, that makes him an asshole."

Rubbing her temples in irritation, Tru counted to ten before replying. "Whatever, Mom." Gently pushing her toward the bedroom door, she finished. "Just let him know I'll be ready to go in about five minutes."

After her mother left, Tru dressed. After applying some makeup, she unlocked the gun safe and carried the contents across to her bed, grabbing a slim belt on the way over. Threading the black belt through the loops on her dark navy slacks, she secured the handcuff holster just behind her left hip and her service issue nine millimeter on her right. Sitting down, she rolled up her pant leg and strapped her backup revolver just below the curve of her calf.

Pulling the pant leg back down, she slid into a pair of heeled shoes and stood up. Glancing into the full length mirror across the room, she smoothed the pale blue blouse she had chosen, and pulled on the suit jacket. Stopping at the dresser on the way out, she clipped her badge to her belt and slipped on her wristwatch. On the way down the hall to the front door, she adjusted her gun so that it rode more comfortably on her hip.

From the front door, she called out, "Ray? Let's haul." Waiting for him to make his appearance, she grabbed her keys and sunglasses.

As she was putting them on, Radulf Taylor came into the hall from the living room. At six foot tall, he dwarfed his partner by eight inches. In his typical gray suit and tie, he looked to be the stereotypical big city detective; tough, smart, and not above breaking the rules to get things done. Grabbing his overcoat from beside the door, he grinned. "Let's go."

Pulling on her own overcoat, an expensive gift from a better-forgotten ex-lover, she called back, "Bye, Mom. See you tonight sometime."

Once the car was out of the drive and safely headed to the precinct, Ray glanced over. "So, what was Dee's problem today?"

Snorting in disgust, she leaned back and closed her eyes. "Who knows, or cares? Some guy at her job probably got the promotion she wanted. Combine that with the rape that brought me along, and you have one seriously fucked up man-hater."

Laughing, he turned the corner. "You know, Gert, I've never actually understood your reasoning for moving back in with her last year."

Opening her eyes and looking out the window, she admitted, "I missed the neighborhood. Despite the problems growing up with a Grandmother suffering from Alzheimer's, even despite the fact that Mom can be, and usually is, a Class-A bitch, it's home. Not to mention the fact that I was tired in living in that cheap ass apartment my bastard ex, Max, rented for us. It was time to come home, start over."

Ray was getting ready to say something else when he saw Tru stiffen in her seat, peering out the windshield. Following her gaze, he found himself looking at a large house on the corner. A young woman had just stumbled out the door and was kneeling on the ground, apparently vomiting. Before he had a chance to say anything, Tru grabbed the radio. "Command, this is Detective Gertrude Ransome. My partner and I are investigating a possible disturbance at thirteen, repeat one three, Poplar Avenue."

Putting the radio back, she caught her partner's look. As he pulled ahead, she shrugged. "That's the Gallantine place. They're good folks, and that almost has to be their daughter, Ali."

When the car rolled to a stop, they both clearly saw that the teenager was covered in blood. Tru swore and leapt out the passenger door, crossing to the girl in seconds. With a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ray stepped to the trunk and grabbed a thin blanket. Once he reached them, he draped it over the girl's shoulders.

Sticking the bow of her sunglasses between the second and third buttons on her blouse, Tru wrapped an arm around the girl. "What's wrong, Ali?"

Ali worked her face against the emotion for a minute before collapsing against Tru with a wail. "They're dead!"

Holding the weeping girl against herself, Tru attempted to get some clarification. "Who's dead?" After a pause in which Ray watched his partner's face pale in horror, she gasped, "Not Luke and Marie?" When Ali nodded against her chest, she looked up at him. "Can you call this in? I'm going to call someone to stay out here with her."

Pulling out his radio, Ray stepped away from the two of them and made the call. "Command, this is Detective Radulf Taylor. We have a double fatality, possibly a double homicide, at thirteen, repeat one three, Poplar Avenue. Request perimeter control, Medical Examiner and Crime Scene. Detective Ransome and I will secure the area."

Putting the radio away, he watched a man and young woman, roughly Ali's age, walk up and wrap her in a tight embrace. Pulling him aside, Tru said, "Let it go, Ray. That's her best friend, Nell Cosgrove, and her father, Elliot. Let's check the house."

Holding their guns at the ready, they entered through the open door. Going through the family room to their left, they secured each room they entered. After making a circuit through the family room, dining room and kitchen, they found themselves back where they had started. On their right was a hall with four doors.

Pulling on gloves they proceeded to check each room. There was nothing interesting until they reached the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Tru entered first, but immediately stopped in her tracks. Her face white with a combination of horror and fury, she could barely force out the words. "Son of a bitch! Whoever did this is fucking dead when we find him, I swear to fucking God!"

Stepping around her, Ray stopped and stared in horror. The scene brought back memories of his time as a Marine Sergeant in Afghanistan. The room most closely resembled a slaughterhouse. Blood was sprayed up the walls and across the ceiling. The bed was covered in the spatter. The largest concentrations were around the bodies. And it was those bodies that sent him back to Afghanistan.

The first body was male, presumably Luke Gallantine, and was clad only in his underwear. He lay crumpled beside the closet, surrounded by a massive pool of blood. The woman, presumably Marie Gallantine, lay sprawled beside the bed, the tattered remnants of her nightgown soaked in the blood that surrounded her body.

As bad as that was, the part causing the worst problem for him was the cause of death. Both bodies had been decapitated, and the murderer had apparently taken the heads with him. Raising his radio to his pale lips, he managed, "Command, confirm double homicide at one three Poplar Avenue."

Working their way back outside, they met the Medical Examiner as she was coming in. A slightly overweight black woman in her mid-thirties, she was considered a good friend and sounding board by both detectives. "Hey Tru, Ray; where are my customers for the day?"

Giving her directions back to the bodies, Ray finished with, "Listen, Tris, be prepared. It's ugly back there. We'll be back with the camera in a couple minutes. Don't let them move the bodies."

As she indicated agreement and entered the house, a furious bellow came from behind him. "Officer McHenry!" Spinning around, he saw Tru in a towering rage, glaring down the walk.

Looking in the same direction, he saw what had so infuriated her. Officer Tom McHenry looked up from where he had apparently been interviewing the nearly hysterical Ali and Nell, as well as an increasingly irate Elliot.

Although McHenry's assumption of authority shocked and angered Ray, he was surprised at the level of fury in Tru's demeanor and voice. "Up here! Now!"

When he had joined them, Ray jumped in before she could get started. "Perhaps we should do this inside? Specifically, out of site of civilians?"

Once they were in, Ray closed the door. Before Officer McHenry had a chance to do more than look confused, he found himself slammed against the wall. Tru, glaring into his face in with a surprising vehemence, shouted, "Just what the fuck did you think you were doing out there, Officer?"

"I was interviewing the suspect."

"Bullshit! You were terrorizing a pair of teenage girls, you damned dickhead! Why were you sent out here?"

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he confessed, "Traffic control."

"Then what the hell were you doing fucking around our crime scene, away from your damned assignment?"

"For Christ's sake, Gertrude…" Whatever he had been going to say was lost in a strangled gasp.

Whispering into his ear, which was now down by her mouth, she said, "I can hurt you far worse than this without the slightest mark, you damned moron." Increasing the pressure, she raised her voice. "You will never, even in your filthiest, most perverted fantasies, call me anything other than Detective. Is that understood, Officer Jackass?" When he nodded, she released him. "Now, you were saying?"

"There are plenty of cops out there doing traffic. They don't need me, so I thought I'd help out here."

"That is bullshit, asswipe! You thought you'd show us what a good detective you'd make. Guess what, buddy? You, thank God for small favors, are not a fucking detective! Do you, by any chance, know why you are not a detective?"

Looking slightly shamefaced, he said, "Because I haven't passed the exam."

"And just how many times have you taken the damned thing?"

Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Six."

"Guess what, genius; you haven't passed because of one simple reason: You are a fucking idiot! I've never heard of anyone having to take it that often." Stepping even closer to him, she said, "You would be the worst excuse for a detective this city ever had. You are not even a real fucking cop! You're nothing but a tiny fucking dick with a badge and gun." Releasing him, she said, "Now get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind about killing you."

Stepping toward the door, he looked back at her. "Is this revenge for the whole Parkman situation? I know you wanted to bang him. Had to have hurt when he took up with that FBI bitch."

Taking a lightning quick step toward him, she smashed the heel of her hand into his ribs twice, nearly breaking them. "No. That was for the Parkman situation." Taking his chin with one hand, she forced him to look at her, "If you were any kind of man, you would never have messed around with his bitch-whore of a wife. Then, I guess calling you a real man is expecting too much. I just wish Parkman had been armed when he found out." Releasing his chin, she slammed her knee into his crotch, following that with a chop to the nerve cluster at the base of his shoulder. Grabbing his hair in one hand, she forced him to look in her face. "That was for having the balls to suggest that I was anything like you." Dropping his head, she wiped her hands clean. "Now get up and get to work. You're disgusting me."

Standing up, he draped his injured arm across his nearly broken ribs. "You can't get away with that shit. That was assault."

This time, Ray spoke up. "It's only assault if you can prove it, dumbass. Nobody, including myself, saw a damned thing."

Muttering under his breath, Officer McHenry went back to his cruiser. Turning to his partner, Ray shook his head. "Christ, Tru. Did you have to try and kill him?"

"Trust me. If I'd wanted him dead, he wouldn't be walking now. Let's go; you get the camera and I'll apologize."

Before she had a chance to say anything, Elliot jumped in. "What the fuck's going on here? Why'd you let that asshole grill us like that? He practically accused Ali of murdering Luke and Marie!"

Closing her eyes in a vain attempt to control her anger, she spoke. "First of all, he's finished. He knows that if he even thinks of talking to you three again, he'll have to deal with me; and he's justifiably terrified of me."

Shaking her head, she continued. "I'm supposed to give you the company line here; how he's simply an overzealous officer who went a little further than he should have. The truth, though, is that he's an incompetent ass with delusions of adequacy." Looking at Ali, she rested a hand on her shoulder. "I am going to have to ask you a few questions later. It's part of my job, but I don't have even the smallest suspicion that you're involved. I just need some information." Looking up as Ray approached from the car, she finished. "Trust me on this, Ali. We are going to catch the animal responsible, and we are going to make him pay. You have my word."

Back inside the bedroom, Ray began taking pictures of the bodies and room, while Tru spoke with the Medical Examiner. "So, Tris, you have anything for us?"

Laughing as she finished her on scene notes, she said, "Yeah, you could say that. These poor people seem to have died between six and eight hours ago."

Tru did the math in her head and gave her a slightly surprised look. "You're saying between 11 pm on the sixth and 1 this morning?"

"If that's the way it works out. I might be able to tell more once I get them on the table." Straightening up, she beckoned over to the woman's body. "You'll want to see this. See the raggedness around the separation line, as well as what seems to be an intact spine?" When Tru bent down and indicated that she did, Tris continued. "That's the cause of death. Specifically, they both died because someone literally ripped off their heads."

Ray spun around, nearly stepping in the man's blood. "Ripped off? Don't you mean cut?" When she shook her head, he continued, "But how?"

She shrugged. "I wish I knew. The only thing I can positively say is that it is definitely beyond the capabilities of any of those three out on the walk. Actually, given the amount of strength and force needed, I suspect it's beyond the physical capability of anyone."

Tru stared at her over the notebook. "You're saying that nothing human did this?"

"Precisely."

"What about some sort of animal?"

Rubbing the back of her neck, Tris considered that idea. "There are certainly animals capable of causing something like this. The problem is that the only animals I can think of would leave distinctive marks on the bodies, and those marks aren't present."

Ray spoke up again. "It would have to be something mechanical, wouldn't it?"

"That's all I can really think of, although I can't imagine the machine built to do this."

Scratching his chin, he said, "All right. You have work to finish, and so do we. We'll see you at the lab."

On the way to the front door, Tru looked at her partner. "You have a theory, don't you?"

Lost in thought, he answered, "About the motive only. I can't even imagine how the murders were carried out."

"So what's your theory?"

"I don't want to say right now. After we leave, assuming we hear from Ali what I expect, I'll tell you."

When they reached the three still huddled together on the front walk, Ray took out his notebook and nodded for Tru to take the lead. Gesturing to the front step, she had them all sit down. "First, Ali, nobody could be sorrier than I am. Luke and Marie were like second parents to me. Still, I have to ask some questions." When she nodded, Tru continued. "All right; I guess we'll start with where you were last night."

Holding Nell's hand, she explained. "Nell's b'day was yesterday. I went to the party, because we've been BFFs since we were five." Catching Ray's puzzled look, she managed a sad smile. "Best Friends Forever. Anyway, the two of us hung out until maybe 10 or 11, and I called home asking if I could just stay there. They said okay, but to get here around 7 or so, in order to get to church.

"I got here around 6:30, I guess, and the house was locked. When I got in, I couldn't find either of them, so I knocked on their bedroom door. When nobody answered, I opened the door. I must have stood there staring for a good five or ten before I ran screaming outside. That's when you guys showed up."

Ali stared into the distance for a minute before asking the next question. "Has anything odd been going on lately? Weird phone calls; your parents acting strange; anything out of the norm?"

Thinking about it, Ali started to deny that happening, but stopped herself. "Wait a minute. There were a couple of strange phone calls last week. The first time, Dad picked it up and vanished into their room. He was yelling something about either not paying or not taking the money, something like that anyway. It was kind of tough to make out. That was maybe a week and a half ago. After that, we got calls every few days, but Mom and Dad ignored them."

"Strange phone calls? Anything else?"

"Just that I heard Mom and Dad fighting the other night. I wasn't supposed to hear anything, but Mom seemed almost hysterical. She kept screaming something about 'he'll know'. When I asked the next day, they acted like I must have been dreaming." Looking into Tru's eyes, she said, "Does this mean anything?"

"I wish I knew, Ali, I really do. I guess the only other question of real importance is whether or not you know anybody who might have wanted to do this? I know your Dad was a shipping manager down by the docks. Was anybody especially mad at him? Or your Mom?"

"No. Nothing I can think of anyway."

Standing up, Tru looked back down. "All right, I guess that's everything. I'll try to keep you in the loop, as much as possible, Ali. I'll have to talk to child services, since you're still a minor, but I think I can swing it so you stay with Nell and Elliot." Putting on her sunglasses again, she gave her a brief hug and headed to the car.

Pulling out into the street, she looked at her partner again. "Spill! What's your theory?"

Back in traffic, past the patrol cruisers, he shrugged. "Basically, it comes down to money. That's one of the main reasons to kill people; money, sex, and anger. The killings actually reminded me of what I saw in Afghanistan; only there it was about religion. That's not a common problem in LA, although there are a few whack jobs around. A sex crime would have been more violent, and a crime based on anger would have been nowhere near as staged. This feels premeditated, and almost looks like it was a message. That says, to me, that it's money."

"All right, assuming you're right, there's still the problem of whose money."

"True. Still, I think we can figure that out. You said Luke worked the docks?"

"Yeah. Where's this going?"

Turning the corner, he headed to the highway. "I suspect what Ali really heard was something about some wise guy being unable to pay him off."

"Wise guy?"

"Mob. It started as a term for a member of the Italian mob, but pretty much means any mobster now. I know the Russians, Irish and Italians are moving a lot of stuff through here. My guess is he was given hush money by one or the other of those groups, and refused to take it. An admirable, but foolhardy, stand on principle. Those that can't be bought will be snuffed. It's how the breed thinks."

"So we're looking at the mob right now?"

"Not exclusively, but I think I'll talk to some of my friends in Vice and Anti-Crime anyway."

At the station, he dropped his coat over the back of his chair and dialed out even as he sat down. Tossing her coat on her desk, Tru entered the Captain's office when he signaled to her.

"Sorry about birding on roll, Captain."

A rough seeming man in his early fifties, he looked exactly like the hardened detective he had been. "No problem, Ransome. I'd have been pissed off if you hadn't stopped." Indicating a chair, he said, "Have a seat and outline the situation."

Sitting down, she pulled out her notebook. "Two decapitated bodies at the scene. According to Tris, the heads were ripped or torn off."

The Captain choked on his coffee. "Jesus H. Christ! Ripped? How the hell'd that happen?"

Shrugging, she admitted, "We don't really know. Tris basically ruled out anything but mechanical removal, somehow, but wasn't able to confirm on scene. We'll hit the lab later. Hopefully she'll be able to get some answers when she has them on the table."

Glancing out his window, he saw Ray taking down a few notes while talking on the phone. "What's he up to?"

Putting away her notebook, she said, "Some info popped during the interview with the daughter. It seemed to hint at possible mob involvement. He's got some contacts with Vice, and part of his old team is still with Anti-Crime, so he's looking for information that way."

"All right. What's next?"

"I'm gonna go ahead and run a state wide search on the MO, and see if anything turns up. Other than that, I have some calls of my own to make. I have to get in touch with the DA and see if she can convince the phone company to turn over the records for the past few months, and then I'm going to grab Ray and head to the docks."

"Why the docks?"

"The father, Luke Gallantine, worked down there. I'm fairly sure he was a shipping manager. I want to get in touch with some coworkers, maybe his boss, and get some info."

Scratching his head, the Captain worried out loud about something. "This is your neighborhood, Detective. I'm certain you knew this family. My only concern is this: will this create problems for you?"

"No sir. It should have no impact on my work solving this murder."

Looking over his glasses at her through narrowed eyes, he cleared his throat. "I'll take your word for that, Ransome. If I think it is affecting you, I'll have you reassigned. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Now get out of here and back to work." As she was heading out the door, he added, "Keep me in the loop on this, all right."

With a nod, she closed the door and went back to her desk. She sat down just as Ray was getting up. "Vice didn't know a damned thing, but Anti-Crime thinks they might have something for me. I'm heading down there now, wanna come?"

Pulling up the proper search on her computer, she said, "No can do. I've got a crap load of work to do here. You head down, but let me know if you find anything out, clear?"

"Got it." With that, he headed out the back while she keyed the particulars into the search.

Down in Anti Crime's headquarters, he found himself encased in a bear hug by a giant of a man, with a distinctly Australian accent. "Ray! What's up man?"

Laughing, he patted the man's back. "Not much, Buzz. How's the place holding together?"

"Aw man, you know how it is. One day at a time. Maybe we'll get enough funding down here, someday, to really get to work."

"That'll be the day. Listen, where's Rita hiding?"

A small black woman stood up from behind her desk. "Hey Ray! Long time no see. How's Major Case treating ya?"

Walking over to the desk, he shook her hand. "Some days are better than others."

"Ever miss this place?"

"Not really. Too many friends weren't coming back, Rita. You know that's why I took the promotion and split."

Sadly, she nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know how it is. The good ones are rare, even now. Most of your old crew is either dead or doing time."

"I know. I went to Bob's funeral, and Nicko's trial."

Rita looked closely at him. "I know you didn't come down here just to shoot the breeze, Ray. What've we got that MC would be interested in?"

Glad for the chance to get down to basics, he moved some files off the chair and sat down. "We've got a problem, Rita. We've got a double homicide upstairs that's looking mob related."

Shocked, she said, "Mob? Which one?"

"Not sure yet. Tru's running an MO search, and I think she's also getting the DA to grant permission for us to run the phone records."

"So what help do you think we can be?"

"I was hoping for an idea of the groups that are making a name for themselves."

"Damn, boy, ya don't want much, do ya."

Shrugging, he said, "I called the Cap, Rita. He said you guys might have something shaking."

Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms under her breasts. "If you were anyone else, Ray, I'd tell you to go to hell. You know that, right?"

Grinning, he pulled out his notebook. "I do. That's why I'm down here and didn't send anyone else." Nodding slightly he finished, "Plus, I do miss the sights and sounds down here. It may not always have been fun, but it was always interesting."

"Still the same old Ray. You never did learn to take no for an answer, did you?"

"That's not how I was raised, Rita."

"Damn." Steepling her fingers for a minute, she finally said, "All right. Give me a couple minutes to get the stuff together."

"Briefing room?"

"Yeah. It should be clear."

About ten minutes later, he found himself seated at the briefing table looking over several boxes of folders that Rita had dragooned several rookies into carrying in. "Well, this is everything we've got."

"Damn." Picking up the first folder, he started thumbing through it. "I guess the first point is to find recent additions to the scene. You know what I'm looking for, Rita. It's the same thing we looked for when going after the gangs. New turf wars, a sudden escalation in the violence, witnesses either disappearing or changing testimony."

A couple hours passed in silence as they worked their way through the files, sorting them into two piles. By the time they were finished, fewer than a dozen were in the pile they were interested in. Rita started putting the others in their boxes. Finishing that, she sat back down. "Well, that part's done. What next, Ray?"

"We look for anything that hints one of these guys is down by the docks."

"You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was, Rita. I really do."

"Ray, you know damned well that everybody uses the docks. Hell, even the majority of the gangs import there."

"I think I can make it easier. What I'm looking for would be extremely recent. I doubt we'd need to go further than a couple, maybe four, months. I'm looking for unusual murders, mostly."

"How unusual?"

"Well, these two had their heads ripped off."

"Shit!"

"Yeah. Whoever the doer was took them with him too. I'm thinking it was a combination message and confirmation."

"Message to others that might want to betray? And confirmation, you mean the head? You think the doer took them back to whoever gave the order?"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"All right, I guess. Let's get to it." After another half hour or so, they had cut the stack down to three potentials. "Damn, Ray, these guys are all Irish."

"Is there anything we can use here?"

"No. None of them are even confirmed. The files were only created because a couple Russkies told us, through back channels if you will, that these guys were moving in on their turf. All three are suspected of being involved in a series of murders and high dollar thefts, but we can't get anybody to talk."

Opening the files, he said, "Well, let's see who we're looking at here." Looking at the suspects in each file he wrote their names down in his notebook, along with a brief synopsis of what Anti Crime was looking at them for.

_**Angus Sullivan:**__ Believed to be a soldier in the Irish mafia. Sponsor unknown. Suspected of involvement in burglaries and witness intimidation; possibly involved in several murders._

_**Devnet Cormac:**__ Believed to be a soldier in the Irish mafia. Sponsor unknown. Suspected of involvement in burglaries and witness intimidation._

_**Torin Fergus:**__ Believed to be a soldier in the Irish mafia. Sponsor unknown. Suspected of involvement in several murders, burglaries and witness intimidation._

"Damn. Could be any of them, couldn't it?"

Scratching the back of her neck, Rita nodded in exhaustion. "Yep. Or it could be somebody in one of the files we threw aside. Or it could be somebody we've never run across. It could also be a bunch of bullshit, Ray. You know how it works down here. You get some good info from criminals, but you can't trust what they say."

Grunting agreement, he closed the files and slid them into the box at his feet. "Listen, I'll help put these away."

Grinning, she stood up. "Don't worry about it, Ray. We've no shortage of rookies around here lately. I'll grab a few of them for the drudge work."

Standing up as well, he waited until she had signaled at a couple of rookies to come in and haul the files out. "Thinking of drudge work; why are you here instead of in the field? I seem to remember saying you'd die before letting them desk you."

She looked uncomfortable for a minute before she answered. "Come back here with me for a minute." Leading him out, she took him into the interview room. Turning her back to him, she pulled her blouse loose from her slacks and unbuttoned it, unfastening her bra as well.

When she turned back around, he gaped in horror at what he saw. There were several knife scars across her breasts and torso, and two puckered bullet scars in her lower abdomen. "Jesus, Rita! What the fuck happened?"

Refastening her bra, she redid the buttons on her blouse and tucked it in. Shrugging, she explained, "A sting went bad. I was the bait, and was supposed to buy drugs. Turns out, we had a rat inside the team. Do you remember J-Ray?"

"Yeah. He always seemed a little strange, but I assumed that was just because of the amount of time he spent on the street. I would have sworn he was clean."

"Yeah, well, we all did. Turns out he was working for this dealer. He sold me out. Maybe a minute into the buy, out came the knives. I don't remember anything after about the fifth cut; I think I was knocked out. Anyway, I came out of it a couple weeks later in the hospital. They'd done everything they could for me there, which left me these nice souvenirs. I've got an appointment next week with a reconstructive surgeon to see about making some of that go away."

"Damn. Why didn't I hear anything about this, girl? You know I'd have moved heaven and earth to be there for you."

With a wry grin she shrugged. "You weren't exactly in the area then, Ray. This happened while you were in Afghanistan making the world safe for democracy. When you made it back, you settled into Major Case, which seems a good fit for you, actually. Anyway, by the time I had recovered enough to make it back, I didn't really belong in the field anymore. I'm not much good in the field when the punks all know who I am. I was too good to lose, and love the job too much to quit, so we agreed that I'd stay here. It's better than nothing."

"What happened to J-Ray?"

Laughing bitterly she said, "He turned up, about a month after damned near getting me killed, missing certain body pieces and face down in the river. Nobody knows who done it."

Ray shook his head. "Damn. I was his fucking sponsor!" Looking back at her he said, "If I'd known, I'd have killed him myself."

"You think I don't know that, Ray?" Coming over to him she wrapped him in a hug. "Hell, baby, we were lovers long enough that I know you better than anybody else. Just because we broke up don't mean a damned thing. I know damn well you'd move mountains to help me, and you know I'd do the same for you." Letting him go, she linked her arm through his and walked him to the main door. "Now get your ass back up there and get those bastards. We don't need that foreign shit making things harder on us."

Back at his desk, he glanced at the clock. Looking over at Tru he said, "It's pushing 1. Wanna grab a bite?"

Running her fingers through her hair, she leaned back from the computer. "Yeah, I guess. The DA faxed over the form I needed. I'll drop it off with the phone company to get the records faxed to my desk. We can do that on the way out. After lunch, we probably want to drop by the lab. Maybe Tris and the Crime Scene boys have shaken something loose for us."

At the office, Tris went in alone. Stepping up to the window inside, she slammed her badge against the glass. "I need to talk to a supervisor. Now!"

Once they allowed her in, she seated herself in the office they led her too. After maybe five minutes, a fat bald man, apparently in his early sixties, walked in. "Could I see some identification please?" After looking it over, he handed it back and nearly disappeared behind his desk. "What may I do for you, Detective Ransome?"

Handing over the form, Tru said, "I need these phone records for the past six months."

Taking the form, he looked at it and shook his head. "I'm truly sorry, Detective, but I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Our customers expect a little privacy. I cannot turn over this information without a warrant."

Glancing at the nameplate on his desk, she looked back at his face. "Michael Gilbert isn't your real name, is it?"

A sudden look of panic showed on his face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Squinting her eyes in thought, she started half whispering, "The Gilbert sounds about right, but it should be the first name, not the last. Gilbert…. Hmm…." Suddenly she looked directly at him. "Gilbert Randall." Suddenly a slow smile, reminiscent of Alice's Cheshire cat, crossed her face. "Well, well, well. I wonder if your superiors know who you really are, Mr. Randall." Relishing the look of panic that had taken over his features, she smiled even more. Her voice came out in a slow purr. "I used to work Sex Crimes, Mr. Randall. I know all about you. I wonder if your PO knows you're here, under an assumed name."

"Wh-wh-wh-what do you want?"

"Give me the records. If I get them, I may forget all about you. If I don't get them… well, you can kiss this new life goodbye."

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he began pulling up the information on the computer. "Well, Detective Ransome, I'll have that information for you presently. Do you just want me to send them over, or would you like a printout?"

"Just send them over. I'll deal with them later." When she stood, so did he. "Don't bother, Gilbert. I'll show myself out." Putting her glasses back on, she went to the car and pulled out her cell.

While she looked through her phone book, Ray glanced at her before pulling out. "It didn't work?"

Laughing, she found the number she was looking for and selected it. "Actually, it worked perfectly. I'll explain later."

As he drove toward the nearest fast food restaurant, he overheard Tru's part of the conversation. "Rick?... Yeah, it's Tru Ransome… Not bad… Is Lacy in?... Can you patch me through, please?... Lace?... Yeah, it's me… Listen, I don't have much time. Do you remember a case involving Gilbert Randall?... Yeah, that's the one… Anyway, what were his restrictions when he was released?... That's what I thought… He's working under an assumed, most likely stolen, identity at the moment, well within that radius… I just spoke with him actually… He's working as the supervisor at the phone company under the name Michael Gilbert… No problem, Lace… Catch ya later."

Pulling into the parking lot and getting out together, Ray told her, "I don't think you need to tell me what happened. I've got a pretty good idea."

"Problem with it?"

"Not really. He's a perv, and was stupid enough to think you'd actually ignore him as long as you got what you wanted."

During the quick lunch, she filled him in on her fruitless desk bound search for information. "Not a single damn thing, Ray. The MO doesn't even exist, at least as far as the database is concerned, and there hasn't been so much as a fucking drunk and disorderly in the area." Biting bitterly into a french fry, she grunted with frustration. "He's a fucking ghost, Ray."

Pulling out his notebook, he tossed it across to her. "Open it to the third or forth page, Tru. There's something there that might be important."

Looking at the notes he'd scrawled earlier, she read through the notes about the three possible Irish mafia members. "This is from Anti Crime?"

"Yeah."

"Not much."

Rolling his eyes, he stifled a groan. "No, it's not. It is, however, more than we've got without it."

Handing it back to him, she finished off her sandwich and fries. "True. I'm just saying it's not much. Maybe we'll find something at the docks."

After he finished his lunch, they took the hour long drive to the docks in relative silence. When they pulled in, a heavy man met them. "What can I do for you, detectives?"

Tru took the lead. "Do you know a man named Luke Gallantine?"

Scratching his wind swept hair, he said, "Luke? Sure, ever'body knows Luke. He's a good guy. Don't think he's here today, though."

"We know. We were hoping that we could talk to some people around who knows him."

His narrow eyes turned cold with anger. "Why? Ain't nobody here gonna badmouth Luke. He's good people."

Ray stepped in. "We understand, Mr…?"

"Huh? Oh, ever'body here calls me Tut, short for Tuthill, on account'a that being' m'name an' all."

Careful to keep from laughing, Ray said, "All right, Mr. Tuthill, we weren't actually looking for someone to say anything bad about Luke."

"Then why's you down here?"

Tru stepped back in. "Earlier, Tut, someone murdered Luke and his wife."

"They was murdered?"

"I'm afraid so."

Stepping back slightly, he seemed surprised. "That ain't right. Why'd someone murder them for? Luke and Marie never did nothin' to nobody."

"Believe me, I understand. They were my friends, too. Now do you see why I'd like to talk to some of the people that worked with him. Maybe they saw someone threaten him, or knew of someone with a grudge of some sort."

"Sure, I can let ya talk t'em, but nobody saw nothing'. That's how it works here."

Several hours later, Ray and Tru were forced to admit that Tut had been right. They had talked to better than two dozen people, and nobody claimed to have seen anything that might have led to the murders. When Ray finally tapped her on the arm, Tru looked back to see him gesture to his watch. Checking her own she realized that it was pushing 7 pm. Finishing the last interview, as futile as all the rest, she thanked the woman for her time and stepped out of the office with her partner.

Climbing back into the car, she tossed her notebook on the dash with frustration. "Christ. I'd have thought someone would have seen something around here."

Ray pulled the car into traffic and headed over to the lab. "That's how it is around places like this, Tru. That guy, Tuthill, warned us about this."

"What?"

"He told us that nobody saw anything. Whether they really did or not is immaterial. Luke's death, and Marie's, was a message as much as anything else."

"Not following here, Ray."

"It's fairly simple, although maybe that's just because of my previous work with the gang unit and Anti-Crime. Basically, this kind of death is a vengeance killing, but is also meant as a warning. Someone wanted others to know what would happen if you didn't follow orders."

"And everybody got the message and is clamming up?"

"Pretty much."

"Fuck."

Laughing, he turned onto the highway. "Pretty much."

The ride back to the lab finished in silence

In the forensics lab, they signed in at the front desk and went down to see Tris, who was finishing some reports at her desk. "About time, guys. I was getting ready to send out the search dogs."

Sitting down, Ray laughed. "You have something good for us? We've been getting nothing today."

Shaking her head, she took a sip out of her coffee. "I already sent my report in. It didn't have much. All I was really able to do was confirm what I told you two on scene. Their heads were literally ripped off of their bodies, which was the cause of death."

Ray looked at her closely. "Sexual activity?"

Tris smiled a little. "Nothing definite, I'm afraid. There were some indications of recent activity with the woman, but that may have been her husband. Nothing to indicate a rapist, and no DNA to go fishing with."

Tru absently scratched her arm. "Could you figure out how the murders were done?"

"No. Hell, guys, I even had a guy in the crime lab walk through it with me. No human is strong enough to tear someone's head off like that. Any animal that could have done so would also have left marks of some kind on the bodies, and the marks were absent. The only other thing we could discern was that nothing mechanical could have been used."

Tru raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Anything mechanical in nature, sturdy enough to do that, would have been virtually impossible to get in and out of the house, and would certainly have left trace in the house. The boys didn't find any trace."

"In other words?"

"They died because their heads were violently ripped from their bodies. There is no reasonable explanation for how this happened, since it is impossible for any means we can imagine to have been used."

Walking down to the lab supervisor's office, Tru stalked slightly ahead. Knocking on the door, they waited for him to wave them in. After a few minutes answering questions, they left with no more information than they had entered with.

On the way out to the car, Tru looked at her partner. "This case is really starting to piss me off, Ray."

"Sorry?"

"We can't shake a damned thing loose. Even the fucking crime scene is keeping its mouth shut."

"We've both solved hard ones before."

Stopping by the car, she looked directly at him. "Not this hard, Ray, and you damned well know it."

Nodding in uncomfortable agreement, he drove her home well she called in to the station. "Captain?... It's Ransome. We haven't got shit, sir… I mean precisely that… Tris says that the bodies are telling her nothing… Crime scene boys are saying the same about the house… Anybody at the docks who might have seen or heard anything isn't talking either… The phone records?... They were sent over before lunch and I'll run through them tomorrow… Yes, sir."

Hanging up, she turned to Ray. "He told us to get our sorry asses to bed so we could actually get him something tomorrow."

Grinning, he pulled into her drive. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Same time?"

Opening her door, she returned his grin. "Sounds good, Ray." Turning to head inside, she stopped and reopened the door. "This one's going to get ugly, Ray."

When she closed the door, he found himself admitting that she was probably right. As she stripped and crawled into bed, he finished the long, dark drive to his apartment. By the time he finally dozed off, she had been sleeping for a couple of hours.


	2. Chapter 2: When Death Comes

Over the next several days, the only movement in the case came in the form of numerous false leads which almost magically transformed into dead ends. Any relief they might have found in the noticeable lack of decapitated corpses occupying the morgue was offset by the rapidity with which the case was freezing. 

It was nearly a week after the Gallantine murders when Tru was awakened by her bedside phone. Unable, and unwilling, to stifle a yawn, she answered. "He-eeeaaaggghhh-llo?"

The man on the other end was her partner. In an unusually somber tone, he said, "Sorry about the wakeup call, Gert."

Blinking her eyes sleepily, she rolled onto her back. "Ray?"

"Yeah. I got a call a couple minutes ago. How fast can you be dressed and ready to go?"

Glancing at the clock on her dresser, and regretting it immediately, she tried to concentrate. "Christ, Ray. It's barely 3 in the damned morning; on Saturday, our day off!"

"It looks like our killer's back."

"Damn! Where?"

"The safe-house on Fortieth; how long until you can be ready to go."

Sliding out of bed, she stumbled over to her dresser and threw some clothing on the bed, tucking the cordless between her ear and shoulder. "I assume you're picking me up?"

"On my way out the door as we speak."

Yawning again, she thought quickly. "I should be ready by the time you get here." Disconnecting the call as she walked back to the bed, she put the phone in its charger. Stripping off the outsized tee-shirt, which was all she normally wore to bed, she slid into a pair of panties and denim jeans. Putting on a pair of socks, she fastened her bra as she walked to the closet. Selecting a snug green blouse, she slipped on a pair of black Sketchers before taking out her weapons.

Hurrying to the door, she pulled on her coat and picked up her night bag. Grabbing her keys, badge and sunglasses, stuffing them hurriedly into pockets, she was just opening the door and tucking in her blouse when Ray pulled up.

Backing the car into the street even as she strapped in, he flipped on the lights and sped toward the safe-house. "I have to admit I'm a little shocked."

Running a comb through her hair, she laughed. "Why?"

"I figured I'd be waiting at least a couple minutes before you came out."

Putting the comb back in the bag, she pulled out a stick of roll-on antiperspirant. Unbuttoning her blouse enough to apply it, she shrugged. 'If you'd had to wait for me to actually be ready to go, as opposed to simply being dressed, you would have." Putting on the limited makeup she wore while working and dabbing on a small amount of perfume, she chewed on a stick of gum and stared out the window in silence.

Reaching the alley behind the safe-house, they threaded the car past the cruisers blocking the end, coming to a stop near the Medical Examiner's van. As they climbed out, Ray was practically tackled by a weeping black woman. Crossing her arms against her chest, Tru leaned against the car and watched in mild amusement as he attempted to console the woman.

After several minutes, the woman pulled back and caught Tru's glance. Blinking away the tears, she smiled sheepishly and walked over to her, extending her hand. "Rita Chambers; Anti Crime."

Briefly clasping the proffered hand, Tru said, "Gertrude Ransome. Call me Tru. I assume you're the reason I'm not still in bed?"

"I guess you could say that. Walk back here and I'll fill you guys in." As they worked their way back to the central crime scene, she explained what had led to this point.

"We caught this guy in a raid Thursday morning. Thought he was a low level bean counter for the gang we busted. Anyway, he apparently called his lawyer and, yesterday morning, I'm second seating the DA in a get out of jail free deal. He was gonna give us the people he really worked for, supposedly some foreigners, in exchange for a new life.

"We put him up here for the night with three of the best people I had." Opening the door for them, she led them into the slaughter room. Pointing out the bodies, she named them. "The prostitute over by the wall was Asia Charlotte. The getup was a cover. She was lookout. The Sherman tank by the other wall was Rick Borden. He was the muscle end of the detail. Smart, but strong as a damned ox. The small guy in the middle of the floor was…" Here she temporarily lost control of her emotions for a couple more minutes. After she regained her composure, she finished. "That was Shawn Crawford." Looking briefly at Ray, she let a couple tears fall as she said, "Shawn and I were lovers. He asked me to marry him last Saturday."

Ray embraced her quickly. "Was he good to you?"

A brief, sad, smile crossed her face. "The greatest, Ray. Gentle but strong and smart. We were somehow perfect for each other. He's the one who kept me going when J-Ray turned rat. I've always thought he was involved in J-Ray's sudden death too."

"I wish I could've met him."

Rita glanced into his face. "You really mean that, don't you?"

He smiled gently. "Of course, Rita. I didn't stop caring about you when we stopped sleeping together. We were never meant to be a permanent thing, and we both knew it. Just the fact that he made you happy is enough to make me like him."

In an attempt to maneuver them back on track, Tru pointed out the body still in the chair. "I assume that's the rat. Do you have a name?"

"The name he gave us was Mickey Finnigan."

Looking around the room, Tru muttered, "This doesn't make any sense."

Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, Ray focused on her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Attempting to explain, she said, "Obviously Finnigan was killed first. Had I been any of the others he would've ducked out of the chair. That indicates he was the target, doesn't it?" When ray nodded agreement, she continued. "Then why kill the others? More important, why the hell is the lookout inside?"

Rita absently scratched one of the scars on her stomach. "Asia would've come running if she heard any trouble."

"That's my point. I think our guy seriously screwed this one up."

Ray looked around in confusion. "Sorry, Tru, I'm not tracking."

"The only reason to kill Borden and Crawford is because they saw something. The only thing that makes any sense to me is them seeing enough to ID him." Scanning the walls, she suddenly laughed. Pointing out a series of bullet holes, she explained the outburst. "There's the reason Asia came in. Borden and Crawford saw the killer and tried to stop him. She heard the fighting and came running. Our guy got sloppy and stupid. I think this was more rushed than the Gallantine job."

Ray thought for a minute. "Do you still have the contact info for that lawyer?"

"I think so." Walking over to where Triss was bagging Shawn Crawford, she knelt briefly at his side. Clasping his hand tightly, she swore, "We're gonna get this son of a bitch baby."

Leading them back outside, she pulled a small card from her wallet. Dialing the number on her cell, she frowned and tried it twice more. After receiving the same result each time, she clipped the phone to her belt and swore in frustration. Handing the card over to Ray, she said, "This is the information the lawyer handed over when we set up the deal, but the number doesn't exist."

The card was a small note card, with Rit's neat print giving the lawyer's name as Regis Fortun, and listing his number as 437-3323. After glancing at it, he handed the card over to Tru and dug out his notebook. While he wrote the information down and stared at it for a few minutes, she pulled out her phone and looked the keypad over.

After flipping back in his notebook and writing some more on the last page, Ray looked back at Rita. "I don't suppose you recorded the interviews with the lawyer?"

"Yeah, always. Why?"

Grinning slightly, he tossed over his notebook. "Because it's likely you now have a face to go with one of those names you showed me. Regis Fortun is an anagram for Torin Fergus."

"Shit!"

Tru walked over and handed the card back. "That's not all. I just worked on the number. Whoever's behind this is one twisted son of a bitch."

Rita paused as she put the card back in her wallet. "What are you talking about?"

"The phone number's a death threat. When you look at the corresponding letters on the keypad, you don't get the numeric series four, three, seven, three, three, two and three. Instead, you get H, E, S, D, E, A, D."

"'He's Dead.' Fuck!"

"Pretty much." Looking around, Ray watched Crime Scene reenter the building. "It doesn't look like we can do much more around here." Glancing at his partner, he caught her nod. "We'll meet you back at the precinct, Rita."

"I'll grab breakfast on my way in."

Roughly four hours later, shortly after 8, both Ray and Tru had taken the time to use the precinct showers and had joined Rita over a quick fast food breakfast before going to the Crime Lab.

The forensics labs seen in the movies and on television are related to the ones found in reality primarily by implication. They are usually dark, save for the occasional points of mood lighting. In reality, the lab is always brightly lit. The labs the public sees in popular forensic dramas are populated by interesting, beautiful people wearing expensive and custom tailored clothing, which usually stops just short of total exposure on the women with the best breasts. Only occasionally will you find someone wearing a pristine white lab coat. The reality is that the employees run the gamut regarding physical appearance, but none of them are supermodels in their spare time. They rarely spend much time with hair and makeup, and wear inexpensive clothing because they are usually covered in coveralls or lab gear; jacket, latex gloves, safety mask, safety goggles and hair net.

The woman they were meeting was a perfect physical reminder that fact is never the same as fiction. A white woman in her mid-fifties, she stood about an inch under five feet, as long as she was wearing heels. Although reasonably attractive, she would do well to lose ten to fifteen pounds. At the moment she was looking over a series of lab reports with the detectives. "Are we certain this isn't a copycat killer?"

Ray shrugged. "Anything's possible, I guess. Why?"

Scanning the reports, she said, "Look at this. The Gallantine murders were clean. All we got out of that house was a partial footprint; not even enough to try and place the tread pattern. By comparison, this one was just a mess. We found footprints all over the room, fingerprints in half a dozen places, and skin tissue under Asia Charlotte's nails."

Holding out a hand for the reports, Tru looked them over for a few minutes. Handing them to Rita, she looked at Ray. "The problem with the idea of a copycat is still the MO. The heads were literally torn off, just like with Luke and Marie, and there's still no trace at the scene that would even begin to explain how."

Rita had finished scanning the reports when she cleared her throat. Pointing to a chemical compound listed as trace in the footprints, she said, "I think we may have something."

"What?"

Pointing to the breakdown, she explained, "This compound is used at the docks. It's a cleaner they use while repairing damaged hulls. I don't think I've encountered it anywhere else."

Ray glanced at Tru, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Didn't we interview some guy at the docks who did ship repair?"

Flipping through her notes, Tru nodded. "Yeah. Some guy named Sully. He had a bit of an accent that made him hard to understand at times; I think he was Irish."

Looking at his own notes, Ray grunted. "I've got a friend who goes by the name Sully. It's a nick for his last name, Sullivan. How much you want to bet this guy's first name is Angus? I think another might be worthwhile." As they stood to go, he looked back at the forensic investigator. "Thanks for the info, Bobbi. You'll let us know if anything pops with the fingerprints?" When she nodded, they left for the docks.

Tuthill came out meet them as they pulled into the docks. "Howdy, Detectives. What c'n I do ya fer?" When Rita stepped out of the car as well, his wide grin faded. "Why the hell'd she come?"

Rita's grin was vaguely reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. "Hi, Tut."

Tru chuckled. "I take it you two have met?"

"We 'ave. And it's brought me no pleasure knowin' her. Ever' time she shows up, I end up havin' t' hire idjit replacements fer the people she's haulin' off in one way or t'other."

"Now, Tut, you know that's only because you have the tendency to, occasionally, hire people with a, shall we say, liberal interpretation of the law?"

"Sure. Whatever. Why you folks here?"

Tru cleared her throat. "We need to have a chat with one of your guys, actually."

"Who?"

"He told us to call him Sully. We didn't need it, so we didn't get his full name. He works the repair docks."

"Sully? He's workin' a hull right now. Why you need him?"

Ray took over. "Some stuff came up in our investigation. Based on what he told us in our last interview, we think he can help us out."

Snorting back a laugh, he scratched his paunch. "Whatever. Straight through th' door there and right down th' walk. Should take ya right to where he's workin'."

After following the indicated path for a couple of minutes, they found themselves in the middle of the repair yard. Down on the water was a single floating dry dock, used for major repairs, and two other docks used for more minor work. There were also several building used for everything from storage to office space.

After asking several workers where he could be found, they were directed to one of the buildings where he was cleaning up from some hull work. As they were passing one of the windows, Rita glanced in and paled slightly. Stopping them just past the window, she asked, "Is that the guy?"

Slipping back to look through the window briefly, Tru said, "Yeah, that's Sully. Why?"

"Because he's also that lawyer I was telling you about, Regis Fortun."

Ray blinked in surprise. "Fortun? You're positive?" When she nodded, he scratched the back of his neck in frustration. "Damn! If you go in there with us, he's bound to recognize you."

Suddenly Tru perked up. "Wait a second. I think we can use this." Turning to Rita she said, "You stay here for maybe five minutes. That'll give me and Ray time to start making him as uncomfortable as possible." Looking back at her partner, she continued. "We go in and talk for a few minutes. During that time I'll ask about his name, Sully, and if it isn't commonly used as a nick for Sullivan. Then one of us should slip and call him Angus. That should set him up nicely." Nodding back at Rita, she finished. "That's about the time you should be showing up. Come in and act surprised to see him. Ask him what he's doing here; using the name he gave you when pretending to be a lawyer. That should panic him enough to give us what we want."

Glancing at Ray, Rita couldn't restrain a laugh. "Is she always this cold blooded about orchestrating interviews?"

Shaking his head, Ray laughed as well. "Hell, you should see her when we have them in custody. I've seen her orchestrate things so we got a confession from a suspect, whose lawyer was trying to shut him up, which held up in court. She's a fucking genius at it."

"If you two are done admiring me, are we good to go?"

With Rita counting to five minutes outside, Ray and Tru walked into the building. They ran across Sully while he was finishing scrubbing his arms and hands clean. Glancing up, he grinned as he rinsed off and grabbed a towel. As he dried, he greeted them. "Morning, Detectives. Or is it afternoon?"

Glancing at his watch, Ray said, "Just past noon, Sully." Glancing into his torn face, Ray winced a little. "Damn, man. What the hell happened to you?"

Tossing the towel aside, he leaned against the wall. "Nothin' much, had a minor disagreement with a gent last night at the bar. What can I do for you today?"

Taking the silent cue from his partner, Ray headed the interview. "Some information came up during an investigation into the quadruple murder this morning. Since there seems to be a link to the Gallantine murders, we were wondering if you could help us."

Shrugging, Sully commented, "Heard about that. Nasty business." Indicating a large folding table and chairs in the other room with his head, he finished. "Not sure what help I can provide, Detectives, but I'll do my best."

Once they were seated at the table, and he had served coffee, they began asking him a series of questions. Ray was in the middle of one when Tru interrupted. "Sorry, Ray. It just struck me where I've heard the name Sully before. I had a friend when I was growing up that went by that name. As I remember, it was a nick he took because his last name was Sullivan." Glancing with feigned innocence at his slightly paled face, she asked, "I don't suppose that's true in your case, is it?"

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he nodded. "Yeah. It was the only good thing I got from my git of a Da. Why?"

Shrugging, she laughed a little. "No reason. I just thought it was interesting, that's all."

For another minute or two Ray continued to ask questions. Shortly before the five minute mark, he felt a slight nudge as Tru bumped his foot under the table. Without pausing, he asked, "So, Angus, you didn't see or hear anything unusual this morning?"

Since they were both looking him in the face when Ray called him Angus, it was impossible to miss as he paled several shades almost immediately. While he was still attempting to regain his composure, they heard Rita walk into the room. "Hey guys. Sorry it took so long." Seemingly by accident she looked at Sully, and then took a second, closer look. "Counsellor Fortun? What are you doing here?"

They watched for a second as his already pale face went nearly white. While he attempted to stammer out some sort of denial, Tru swept in. "Fortun? I thought you said your name was Sullivan?"

Ray took out his handcuffs. "I think maybe you should come with us until we get this sorted out, Mr. Sullivan." As he stood up, he kept an eye on the steadily paler suspect.

With a shouted curse, Angus Sullivan vanished with a muted popping sound. Rita, Ray and Tru stood in horrified fascination, staring at the space Sullivan had just vacated. Coming out of his brief stupor, ray leapt across the table to where Angus had been standing. When he finally rolled to a stop against the wall, having come in contact with nothing solid, he shook his head. "What the FUCK is going on here?"

Shaking their heads in shock, Rita and Tru could do nothing but stare at the point from which their suspect had vanished. Finally, Tru blinked and shouted out, "I don't know what just fucking happened, but we better do something before he gets the hell away."

Rita ran out the door first. "Tut'll have what we need."

As they ran up to Tuthill's office, Ray couldn't help observing, "The Captain's gonna fucking kill us!"

Tru yelled back, "Only if we don't catch the bastard."

As they came to a stop in his office, Tuthill looked at them in alarm. "What th' hell's goin' on?"

Rita took a breath and then answered. "We need to know where Sully lives."

Shaking his head, Tuthill backed away. "Hell no. I don't give shit to th' cops 'thout a reason."

Tru approached him threateningly. "Listen you little son of a bitch. That fucker's a damned cop-killer. He killed Luke and Marie Gallantine earlier this week, and just killed three cops as well as his own partner in order to cover his ass this morning. If I need to, I'll call up the fucking DA right now and get a warrant sworn out for the search of every single damned file you have in this shitty place, and I might just throw in obstruction charges for you while I'm at it. Or you can give us the fucking information now!" With her glaring in rage, Tuthill quickly pulled up the information and gave it to them.

Quickly screeching to a stop outside the apartment building, they leapt out of the car. They ran up the stairs just inside the doors until reaching the level his apartment was on. Standing just outside his door, Tru raised her voice. "Sullivan? This is the LAPD. Open the door and come out, with your hands up!" When she didn't receive a reply, she repeated the command and listened again.

Hearing footsteps, she nodded at Ray who kicked the door in. Rita ran in first, followed immediately by Tru, with Ray bringing up the rear. Inside they found an apartment that was completely spotless. Rita swore. "Nobody fucking lives here. It's a damned bolt hole."

She perked up when she heard noise from the bedroom down a short hall. Catching the attention of the other two, she drew her weapon and signaled down the hall. Taking the lead she let the others clear the closet and restroom while she concentrated on the bedroom. Taking the handle in one hand, she slowly turned the knob until the latch opened, and gave the door a shove. Stepping into the room, she looked around and saw that there was nobody in it.

As she turned to head back into the hall, she heard a slight noise behind her, almost a soft popping noise. Suddenly she felt hands grab onto her head, stopping her from turning around. She felt the warm breath as her assailant bent down to whisper in her ear, dropping all pretense at a soft accent. "Ya really should na' o' come 'ere, Rita."

Ray and Tru sprinted into the room when they heard her scream for help. They made it just in time to watch Angus Sullivan vanish, along with Rita's head. They watched in horrified silence as, in a scene filled with macabre grace, her headless body crumbled to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3: The End Of The Beginning

It had been over four hours since Ray's ex-partner and former lover, Rita Chambers, had been murdered by the mysteriously vanishing Angus Sullivan. Tru, who had known her only a brief time, was in a state of outraged shock. The killer's sadistic laugh as he took Rita's head kept playing through her mind. Ray, however, was inconsolable. He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and staring blankly at Rita's body, with tears carving their way down his cheeks. Occasionally, a fresh wave of grief would overwhelm him and his six foot frame would again be wracked with sorrow.

Watching him with sympathy and understanding, Tru also wept. Her tears were not only for the loss of a woman she might have called friend, but also the agonized sorrow Ray, who was as much friend as partner, was suffering. She could still hear him screaming Rita's name as they ran into the room. She could still see Rita's body, slowly and with a macabre grace, collapsing as her murderer made his escape.

Dimly, as if from a distance, she heard a voice call, "Detective Ransome?"

Pulling her mind away from the immediate past she blinked for a moment as she gathered her thoughts, focusing on the man trying to get her attention. "Sorry, Captain. Didn't realize you were here."

"I can see that." Looking around, he shook his head in disgust. "Now, do you suppose you could tell me just what the fuck happened here?"

Drawing a deep breath, she told him everything. When she reached the part about Rita having identified Angus Sullivan as the lawyer, Regis Fortun, who had set up the deal for Mickey Finnigan, he swore. "Why was she with you?"

"You know how it works, Captain. Anti-Crime lost three of their own, not to mention an informant, with this morning's safe house murders. Rita was also the only reason Ray and I were there in the first place; she contacted us shortly after she contacted dispatch. There was also the very real possibility, which turned out to be fact, that she had information we might need. We were going to end up with someone from AC anyway, so we decided to go with someone we'd already established a bit of a rapport with."

"Fine. He gave you the slip at the docks." Looking over to where Tris was preparing Rita's body for transport, he said, "How the hell'd he get away this time?"

Grimacing at what she knew was coming, Tru could only shrug helplessly. "I wish to God I knew, Captain."

He lowered his voice in disbelief, uttering the question through lips thinned in anger. "You wish you fucking knew? What the hell does that mean?"

"With all due respect, Sir, I meant exactly what I said. Me and Ray were clearing the rest of the apartment at the time it went down. We heard her scream, and ran into the room. By the time we made it in, he was gone and she was dead."

"And now he's in the damned wind?"

"Not entirely. I've still got a couple things to check on."

From the phone table in the living area, a woman with the Crime Scene Unit called out, "Detectives? You may want to see this."

Moving into the room, Tru took a small black notebook from the investigator. The first page contained a series of names, addresses and phone numbers. Beside most of them was a dollar amount, usually in triple figures. Beside three listings, however, the dollar amount had been replaced with a single dark red mark. Her eyes widened in shock when she ran across Luke Gallantine's name on the list. The red mark beside his entry was covered with a black X, with an asterisk beside it.

The bottom of the page contained Mickey Finnigan's name, along with the address for the safe house. Beside the listing was the red mark covered by the black X. The major difference was that he had written the number one inside the mark, and there were a pair of asterisks beside it.

Flipping to the next page, she found the reason for the asterisks.

1/7 12:25 AM: Contract executed. Single collateral; Contract's wife

1/13 1:10 AM: Priority Contract executed. Triple collateral; Police guarding Contract.

Flipping to the third page, she found yet another list. Some of the entries were addresses, others were phone numbers. Beside each entry was a small group of letters. Running her eyes down the list, she found the address for the apartment they were currently in. Beside the entry was the grouping SH1.

"Shit! Ray?" Turning around, she saw that he was still in the bedroom. Swearing under her breath, she handed the book back. "Hold this for a minute please."

Walking back into the bedroom, she crouched down beside her partner. After watching Tris work for a minute, she looked over at him. "Ray?" When she got no response, she turned so she was facing him. After checking to be certain nobody was watching she struck his face with the back of her hand.

Jerking upright with a startled curse, his eyes cleared as he grabbed the cheek she had just assaulted, and choked out, "Son of a bitch!" Turning his head to look at her, he asked, 'What the hell's the big idea?"

Standing up, she held out a hand. Helping him to his feet, she replied, "I needed my partner back. You can fall apart later, Ray; right now we have work to do."

Back in the living area, she showed him the book. "Is this what I think it is?"

Thumbing through the book, he rubbed his forehead with one hand. "I guess that depends on what you think it is. The amounts look like payments; probably hush money. The marked names are probably a hit list, especially when you combine the fact that two of them are dead with the information on the second page."

Almost before he finished, Tru pulled out her radio and identified herself. Reading over his shoulder, she gave the remaining three addresses and said, "We need a unit for each one. We have reason to believe that they're in immediate danger."

While she was doing that, Ray was looking through the third page. Pulling out his own notebook, he copied the information. Briefly closing his eyes, he set aside the memories of Rita that were flashing through his mind and focused his thoughts on the man who had killed her. There would be time for tears and grief later. As Tru had so forcibly reminded him, right now was the time for investigation. He pulled about himself the cold calculation and almost icy calm that was his trademark.

"Anything?" The woman's voice came from directly beside him, startling him with its unexpectedness.

"Christ, Tru!" Regaining his composure, he nodded. "Possibly." Handing the book back to the investigator, he led Tru out of the apartment. Glancing at his watch, he shook his head. "You hungry?"

"A little, I guess. Why?"

"Because it's after 5, and I haven't even had breakfast. If it's all right with the Captain, I thought we'd pick up the Gallantine file and compare notes over dinner."

The Captain had just stepped out of the apartment, and overheard this last. "Why do you need it?"

Ray glanced at the list. "Because some of this looks extremely familiar, and I'm almost positive I'll find confirmation there."

Scratching the base of his throat in thought, the Captain was silent for several minutes. "All right." Looking directly into both detectives' faces, he placed a slight, but obvious, angered stress on each word as he ordered, "If, however, something pops on this, call it in. Do not pull this Rambo shit again, understand?" When they agreed, he waved them out. "Good. Now get outta here."

When the meal was nearly finished, Tru glanced across the table at Ray. "Are we really certain we can trust what all's in that thing?"

"Think the notebook's a plant?"

Nodding, she said, "We've both seen some incredibly stupid skells, but this seems worse than normal. I mean, he kept virtually everything in a single notebook that was barely hidden?"

After considering it for several minutes, he disagreed. "I don't think the book is likely to have been a planted."

"Why?"

"It wasn't well enough hidden." When she threw him a confused look, he explained. "Planted evidence is done so because the skill's expecting it to be found. It's usually done in such a way that it's certain to be discovered, but not easily. He's anticipating that the officer who uncovers the evidence will be convinced of its authenticity because it was so difficult to locate." Shrugging, he finished. "The notebook CSU found was placed in a drawer near the phone, wasn't it? When you combine that with the extremely limited coding involved, I think the book's the real deal. I seriously doubt he meant to leave it for us to find."

After considering that for several more minutes, Tru brought up her last major concern. "I think we can safely assume that the SH listings are our guy's safe houses. Do we have enough for warrants?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Ray laughed uncomfortably. "The warrants shouldn't be a problem. The real question is, how do we stop a guy who can just fucking vanish?"

In utter seriousness, Tru flashed a wicked, almost avid, little grin. "Shoot off his balls?"

Wincing in sympathetic pain, he laughed, "Christ, Gert!"

"He wouldn't pull his vanishing shit on us would he?"

Leaning back in his chair he chuckled. "Jesus! Just how many brutality complaints have been filed against you again?" When she simply flashed that grin again, he chuckled and moved on. "I was actually wondering about using tasers."

"Do you honestly think they'd do any good against him?"

Half shrugging, he stood up and took the check. "Honestly? I doubt it. On the other hand, there's at least a chance of getting more than screams of pain if it does."

After paying they headed to the car, where Tru made the necessary calls for the warrants and backup.

Roughly two hours later, shortly after 9, they were seated in the dark and silent car, watching the house listed as SH2. A pair of cruisers, also with their lights off, pulled up near them. The two officers stepped out of their cars and met Ray and Tru as they stood as well.

Handing the warrant to Ray, the taller of the two said, "DA says you better pray to God your perp's in one of these buildings. She claims she had to burn incense and sacrifice a couple virgins to get the judge to sign."

The other officer handed over a couple tasers. After reading through the warrant, Ray stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. Looking at the pair of uniforms, he gestured around the house. "You two go around back. Let us know once you're in place. When everybody's ready, Tru'll give the go ahead. It's a No Knock, so just kick through the door and search the place. This perp's got a tendency to kill first and ask questions never, so tase on sight. Understand?" When they nodded, he told them to get going.

While the officers moved around the house, Tru contacted the teams standing by to raid the other safe houses on the list. When everything else was ready, they moved into position and waited for the uniforms to get in place. After another minute or two, the call came over the radio.

Taking her radio in one hand, and her taser in the other, Tru looked over at Ray. When he nodded, she keyed the radio. "All units go!"

Even as she clipped the radio back on her belt, Ray kicked in the door. Slipping through the space he provided for her, Tru went in low while Ray went in high, just as they had always done in practice. With the tasers at eye level, the weapons pointed everywhere they looked. After clearing the entryway and coat closet, they entered the living room of the house.

A small glass, half full of a caramel colored liquid, sat on an end table near the recliner. Pulling out a white handkerchief, Tru picked the glass up and sniffed the distinct aroma of good brandy. She also smelled traces of a cigar, possibly Cuban. Turning to her partner, she found him looking toward the kitchen, head cocked as if listening to something.

Catching her stare, he motioned her to keep quiet. With a small series of gestures, he let her know that he wanted to investigate a noise in the kitchen. Narrowing her eyes in thought, she looked toward the kitchen. Using her hands, she asked if he wanted the same high-low entrance routine.

When he nodded, she slipped to the entrance, crouching on one side of the frame while he stood pressed against the other. Dropping the taser to her side in her left hand, she gripped the frame in her right in preparation. Every muscle tense and ready, she kept a watchful eye on her partner's raised hand. When it dropped, she threw herself into the kitchen, raising the taser into a two handed grip even as she rounded the corner.

The layout of the kitchen was fairly standard. It contained an island in the center, with cabinets, the refrigerator and other major appliances along the walls. As she moved along one wall in an effort to clear the area around the island, she could hear Ray's soft tread behind her. After another half dozen cautious steps she heard the familiar quiet popping sound of suddenly displaced air. At virtually the same moment, Ray's cautious footsteps ceased. Turning around with mounting dread, she found herself facing a broadly grinning Angus Sullivan, his hands tightly gripping Ray's head.

"Well now, isn't this just an awkward situation?" Indicating the island with his chin, he said, "Why don't ye just go ahead and toss the weapons over there?"

Complying, Tru asked, "What the hell do you want?"

"Isn't it obvious, girlie? I want ye to get me th' hell outta here.

Glancing at her partner, she saw his eyes close with resignation at what was in her face. "You're not getting out of here, Angus. Too many cops want your hide."

Narrowing his eyes in anger, Angus shifted his grip on Ray's head. "That's where ye're wrong, Officer. Ye've got a choice; either ye help me out of here, or yer partner here ends up dead."

Lost in thought for a moment, Tru pondered how best to pull this desperate stunt off. Finally, she decided to be straightforward, and hoped she could be fast enough to save her partner's life. "There's something you forgot, Angus."

"An' what would that be?"

Even as she began the motion, she realized there was simply no way she'd be fast enough, and desperately wished there was some way to stop him from killing ray. Even so, she ripped her service pistol from its holster on her hip. Even as the weapon left the holster, time seemed to slow down, and she saw everything with crystal clarity. She watched Ray's eyes open as he nodded acceptance of his fate, and she saw Sullivan's eyes reflect his shock and rage.

Suddenly something seemed to burst within her. Even as her weapon swung into a two-handed grip, something within built and crashed out from her as a giant wave, seemingly carrying with it her very essence. As the pistol seemed to crawl into firing position, the wave swelled unnoticed over Sullivan, doing God alone knew what. With the weapon leveled in front of her eyes, she watched with horror as his briefly narrowed in concentration.

Taking a microsecond to aim, Tru squeezed the trigger at the same moment Sullivan's eyes widened in horror. As the bullet sped across the short distance, the intangible wave withdrew, leaving Tru with the intense feeling that something within had been altered forever. Time resumed its normal pace as, leaning against the wall due to sudden vertigo, she watched the bullet dust both sides of Sullivan's exposed shoulder. Uttering a scream of pain and rage, he released Ray and grabbed the wound as both uniformed officers ran in, weapons out.

Spinning around, Ray grabbed his arm and threw him face first to the ground. Retaining his grip on the arm, he drove his knee into the wounded shoulder. Slapping at his belt, he realized that he had forgotten his handcuffs that morning. Holding out his free hand, he looked at the officers. "Cuffs?"

Grinding his knee into the shoulder, he slapped the handcuffs around the secured wrist before wrestling the other arm into position and slapping the handcuffs on that one as well. Grabbing the imprisoned wrists with one hand, and the ruined shoulder with the other, he forced Sullivan to his feet. Dumping him in a nearby chair, Ray looked at the officers. "Read him."

Stepping to the sink, he washed his hands. "Tru?" Hearing no response, he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was still leaning against the wall, oblivious to what was happening around her. Drying his hands on his jeans, he raised his voice. "Hey, partner?" Seeing her eyes clear, he nodded toward Sullivan. "Wanna call this in?"

Shrugging, she pulled out her radio. Identifying herself and the address, she said, "All units, suspect in custody. Repeat; suspect in custody. Send a bus, he's been injured."

Putting the radio away, she leaned back against the wall and stared at their new prisoner in complete exhaustion. He stared back with undisguised hatred. "What th' fuck'd ye do t' me, ye ruddy git?"

As she heard the sirens approach, she pushed off from the wall and walked to the kitchen door. From there, she looked through the window into the darkness. "I wish I fucking knew."

Shortly after midnight, as Tru lay wide awake and trying to answer to that question, Ray was asleep and dreaming.

He found himself walking through a plain door into an anonymous motel room. Along one wall a series of television monitors sat on a long folding table. Nearby was a stack of printouts, a type writer and a set of electronic surveillance gear. Beside the table was a wheeled dry erase board, similar to the type used in some university classrooms.

"Recognize anything?"

Spinning around at the unexpected voice, he found himself staring at Rita Chambers. She no longer looked like the woman who had been murdered by Sullivan. Wearing a pair of tight hip hugging jeans and a daringly cut, form fitting blouse, this was the woman as she had appeared when he had first fallen in love with her. Her hair was no longer cut to barely shoulder length, but flowed down past the small of her back in flowing ebony curls, stopping just as they flirted with the enticing curve of her buttocks. The swell of her breasts, completely unmarked by blade, bulged provocatively over the cut of her blouse. Her face was no longer cast in the bitter caution which had marked her since J-Ray's betrayal. Instead, he found himself staring into the much softer face of a woman both happy and content, with the slight edge that came from knowing damn well she was the best.

Sinking to a nearby chair in confusion, he asked, "What the hell's going on?"

Moving to the bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and shrugged. "I don't know." She smiled as she gestured around the room. "Everything here comes from you. Recognize it?"

Glancing around the room, he smiled in memory. "Of course I do, Rita. This was the base the two of us used when our team took down _Los Guerreros De La Sangre_." Looking at the bed, his smile broadened. "As I remember, that was also the bed where you and I first made love." Looking back into her face, the smile faded and tears began to fall. Sitting beside her, he grabbed her hand, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

For several minutes she held him as he wept. When he was finally able to look into her face, she wore a small half smile. "Don't worry about it, baby." Looking down at herself, she quickly laughed. "Thanks for giving me this body, by the way. I like it much better than the one I died in."

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he looked at her in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Laughing at his reaction, she stood from the bed. As she did so, the jeans and blouse morphed into a sheer, ivory negligee he remembered quite well. Spinning on one bare heel, the negligee became a black leather micro skirt, thigh high black boots, and a midriff baring, skin tight halter top that barely covered her breasts. The new look, which he remembered from one of their few actual dates, was complimented by a tight braid and makeup that gave her an exotic, almost dangerous, look. "Baby, none of this is real. Everything you see is a dream."

"You mean I'm making all this up?"

"Not exactly. Everything you see is based on memory; your memories of this place and your memories of me."

"But why? Why this place? Why you?"

"I think we've already covered why I'm here. You felt the need to apologize for letting me die, even though there was absolutely nothing you could have done. You also needed a friendly face right now. As for why you're in this room?" Walking to the other side of the room, she said, "Take a look over here."

Climbing to his feet, he followed her to the surveillance table. Standing beside her, he found himself automatically assuming the once familiar position they had taken so many times, with his arm draped around her shoulder and his hand gently cupping her left breast while she wrapped her right arm around his waist. As they stood, a memory of happier times, Rita pointed to the monitors.

As if caused by the gesture the monitors powered on, except for the final one. The first monitor was showing the murders of Luke and Marie Gallantine. The second showed the safe house murders of Mickey Finnigan, and the Anti-Crime officers Asia Charlotte, Rick Borden and Shawn Crawford. The third showed Rita's murder as well as the ultimate capture of Angus Sullivan.

Watching the final events with an almost disturbing level of interest, Rita cocked an eyebrow. "Your partner's an unusual girl."

Snorting out a laugh, he replied, "Tell me about it."

"Any clue how she stopped him?"

In response he shook his head. "Not a clue. I asked her about it on the drive home. She doesn't seem to have a clue."

"Like I said, unusual girl. Anyway, those showed what you actually know happened." Gesturing to the final monitor, which powered up in the same way as the others, she finished with, "This, however, will show you what can be surmised by what you know."

This monitor, unlike the others, did not have a clear picture. The images were hazy and indistinct. Picking up the nearby headset, Rita gave it to Ray so he could hear as well as see the events. He watched as Sullivan offered money to Luke Gallantine and several others. In nearly every case, the money was accepted and an agreement, mostly involving regular payments of a smaller amount, was reached. In three cases, including Luke's, the cash was refused. During this sequence, the notebook was repeatedly shown with Sullivan's hand making notations.

The next sequence was of Angus on the phone. "Most took the money… Three only… Warning or clean?... Ye want proof?... Understood… Right away, boss."

After the conversation ended, the monitor flashed to yet another call. Unlike the previous conversation, this time both sides were heard. Rita also handed him a standard transcript. With a sense of mild amusement, he realized that the dream had chosen to cast the voice on the other end of the call as Dr. Claw from the old _Inspector Gadget_ cartoons.

**Voice:**That idiot you recommended, Mickey Finnigan, got his ass caught in a raid.

**Sullivan:**What happened?

**Voice:**He called from jail. He wants me to get him out, or he'll open his damned mouth. That doesn't happen.

**Sullivan:**So, what's the plan?

**Voice:**You've done it before, though not here. Pretend to be the lawyer. Get them to move him somewhere other than the jail, and then finish it.

**Sullivan:**Do you want it to serve as a warning, and do you want proof?

**Voice:**Yes, and yes.

**Sullivan:**Twenty-four to forty-eight, tops.

When the phone disconnected, the monitor and audio powered off. Ducking out from under his arm, Rita, now wearing a form hugging, strapless black dress, with a neckline cut to her navel and the hem falling mere inches down her thighs, put the headset away. Turning to face him, she shook her head when he asked, "Is that everything?"

Leading him to the board, she made her magical gesture again. "This is every connection you've made, either alone or with Tru's help, as well as the specific questions raised."

The center of the board contained a standard hierarchy chart. It showed an unidentified profile at the top, with three lines descending. They terminated in three blocks marked Angus Sullivan, Devnet Cormac and Torin Fergus. Sullivan's block was the only one containing an image. There were several hand written notes down the sides of the board as well.

Shayna Noel IndustriesFront Organization?

Boss enjoys anagrams (Regis FortunTorin Fergus) and basic transposition codes (437-3323He's Dead)

What was being moved through the docks?

What did Mickey Finnigan know?

Is the Boss Irish, or just the soldiers?

Unique MO sig. Look for other unique homicides.

Also needs financing? Look for unique thefts.

"So this is everything I either know or at least think I know?"

Smiling, she turned to face him having once again changed outfits. She was now dressed only in black lace panties and a shear black bra that was doing an inadequate job of containing her breasts, with her ebony hair framing them before stopping just where the sheer lace of the bikini cut became interesting. "Basically. There are only three things left to say."

Barely able to concentrate on what she was saying as she swayed seductively toward him, he cleared his throat. "And they are?"

Carefully herding him across the room, she said, "First, the only hope to stopping what is yet to come will be found in both you and Tru."

Grinning when she saw him bump against the bed, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and drew herself against him. "The second thing is that I left you a little thank you gift in my will. And the third thing?"

Her grin altered and became distinctly naughty. Pulling his head down, she met his lips with hers in a passionate kiss, shifting weight at the same time so that they fell to the bed, with her on top. Kneeling back, even as their clothing dissolved, she began to gently rock her hips as she brought his hands to her breasts. Looking down into his astonished face, allowing her hair to fan over their entangled bodies, she breathed, "This is the third thing. Consider it my way of saying goodbye, as well as saying that you have no share of the blame for my death."

His final thought, before allowing the heated passion to overwhelm him, was to wonder just how much of this was a dream based on memories, and how much was something vastly different.


	4. Chapter 4: Riddles

_**January 17- 18, 2007**_

Rita's funeral was scheduled for 6:30 this evening, four days after her murder and the arrest of Angus Sullivan. It was also the fourth day of Tru's seven days unpaid leave.

With just under an hour until the funeral, Ray was on her sofa, channel surfing and impatiently checking his watch. Getting to his feet, he went to her bedroom and knocked on the door. "Tru? Not trying to be an ass here, but we've got less than an hour."

Her voice, muffled behind the door, called out, "Gimme a couple. I just finished my shower." Rolling his eyes, he went back to the living room. Rounding the corner, he barely had time to register a slight popping sound before tripping over something that had suddenly materialized in front of him.

Rolling to the side and reaching for his weapon, he stopped in shock as he realized what, or who, he had tripped over. "Son of a bitch!"

In the doorway, Tru was seated on the floor, wearing only underwear and an unfastened bra. As she stared around the room in complete bewilderment, her eyes fastened on her partner. "What the fuck?"

Standing up, he walked over and offered her a hand. "Not a damn clue. We should probably wait until later to talk about it, though."

Ten minutes later they were in the car and headed to the funeral. Ray glanced over at his partner. "Any clue just what the hell happened in there?"

"I wish. I was on the bed getting dressed, felt a little light headed for a second, and then you were falling over me."

"Nothing else?"

"Other than feeling a bit rushed because I was running late? Nope."

* * *

Pulling back into the driveway after the funeral, Ray looked at the clock. "It's almost midnight, Tru. Did you still wanna talk about what happened?" 

"Not tonight. You have tomorrow off, right?" when he nodded, she said, "Can you come over tomorrow then?"

Thinking about it for a minute, he shrugged. "I've got a 9 AM with Rita's lawyer, but I should be able to get here around 1 or 2."

Cocking an eyebrow at him, she smiled. "Why the lawyer?"

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he grunted. "Apparently, she wanted me present when her will was read."

Shrugging, she said, "All right. 1 or 2 sounds good."

After watching her vanish into the house, he pulled back out and drove to his apartment, alone with his thoughts. If he wasn't sure what had happened this afternoon, he was even less certain about what had happened a few nights ago. He had been prepared to dismiss it as an odd, disturbing, possibly even perverted, dream until yesterday when he got the call from the lawyer. Now he was faced with a difficult and uncomfortable question; had it been a simple dream, or had it been something much different?

* * *

The next afternoon, shortly after 1:30, he knocked on her door. Having just come from the lawyer, he had been wearing a dark suit, but had left the jacket and tie in the car. When Tru let him in, he saw she was wearing her typical off-duty outfit; a comfortable pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt. 

She laughed when she caught his glance darting around the house. "Don't worry, Ray. Mom's working until 10 or later. You won't have to deal with her bitching about life in general and men in particular."

After they had gotten drinks and gotten comfortable in the front room, she looked curiously at the gun case he was carrying. "New toy?"

"Not exactly." Opening the case, he pulled out a Colt .45. "This was why I had to go to the lawyer. Rita left it for me."

With a shrug, Tru took a sip from her rum and coke. "It's a nice enough gun, I guess. I assume it means something special?"

Laughing quietly, he replaced the weapon and closed the case. "I gave it to her shortly before we broke up. She loved this gun, and was scary accurate with it." His eyes lost in thought, he continued, "She saved my life less than a week later with it."

"Really? How?"

Smiling, he took a drink of his soda. "Not that big a deal, really. We were in a shoot-out with maybe a dozen druggies after a bad bust. My gun jammed at the worst possible moment. Punk had a gun leveled at my head, and I'm pretty much convinced I have another couple seconds of life left. Next thing I know, he's missing part of his face, and Rita's tossing me her spare with the hand not holding the Colt."

Shrugging the memory aside, he took another drink. "Have you been able to figure out what happened yesterday?"

Grimacing, she slumped in her overstuffed chair. "Not even a little. I can walk you completely through the events, but not what it means."

"So, walk me."

Narrowing her eyes in thought, she shifted in her seat. "I was in a hurry anyway because I was running late. When you knocked, I had just finished drying off. Then I sat on the bed and pulled on my underwear. Next thing I know, I'm feeling light headed and you're falling over me." Taking another sip, she shrugged. "That's everything I can think of."

"What about what happened Saturday?"

Deliberately avoiding the thrust of his question, she shrugged her shoulders. "We took down a killer. You were there, Ray. You saw everything I saw."

Rolling his eyes, he leaned forward. "You're damn right I did. I saw him pull his fucking vanishing act at the docks, and then I watched him pull the same damned shit in his apartment; only, this time, he took Rita's head with him. And, unless we forget, he tried to pull that same fucking stunt on me, but you stopped him, Gert."

Looking into his glass, his pale blue eyes lost in thought, he shook his head. "I don't know what the fuck happened there, but you stopped him from killing me, Tru." Looking directly at her, he asked, "How?"

Closing her eyes for a minute, she said, "I wish to God I knew. It's the same problem. I can tell you some of what happened, and the exact order in which it did, but I can't even approach an explanation." Over the next half hour, she attempted to describe what had occurred that night. When she explained, as best she could, the intangible wave that had seemingly exploded from her, overwhelmed Sullivan, and flowed back into her, carrying with it an indefinable sense of change, his face grew interested and thoughtful. "What is it, Ray?"

Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he stared into her face. "Did you have any trouble seeing?"

Thinking about it for a minute, she shook her head. "Not that I can think of. Why?"

"Because, at about the time you say you were feeling that wave, your eyes flashed pure white, and they almost seemed to glow. When you fired, your eyes flashed back to their normal brown."

As she leaned back in her chair, stunned, he kept his eyes on her. "There's something else. Do you remember that weird popping noise Sullivan made when he vanished?" When she nodded, he finished. "I head that same sound just before I tripped over you." Taking a thoughtful drink, he leaned back on the sofa. "I can't explain it, hell, I don't even know how it's possible, but I think you somehow, for lack of a better word, stole Sullivan's power from him."

Blinking in surprise, she looked about ready to argue the point when her face suddenly changed expression. Standing up quickly, she said, "Wait here a minute." Heading back to her room, she took a thick manila envelope from the bottom of her nightstand and went back to the living room.

Reopening the envelope with her thumb, she pulled out a thick copy of _Activating Evolution_ by Chandra Suresh, as well as an introductory letter. "I got this in the mail last October, shortly around the time Matt started working with that blonde Fed."

Handing the letter to Ray, she began paging through the book. Reading through it, he saw a cell number listed at the bottom under the name of Mohinder Suresh.

_ Ms. Gertrude Ransome;_

_ My name is Mohinder Suresh. Until recently, I was a professor of genetics at the University Of Madras in Chennai, India. The enclosed book was authored by my father several years ago._

_ As he explains, he discovered an unusual genomic mutation within some humans. This mutation has the startling effect of bestowing seemingly supernatural abilities on those in whom it manifests. That research, which I have attempted to further, has indicated the presence of this mutation within your cells. It is for that reason I sent this book._

_ If you have questions, feel free to contact me through the number provided._

Holding the letter loosely in his hand, he looked over to where Tru had stopped paging through the book and was now reading it with interest. "Find something?"

Glancing up at him briefly before looking back at the book, she nodded shortly. "I think so. He talks about people like Sullivan, and calls what they do Teleportation."

"What about what you did?"

"To be honest? I'm still not sure just what the fuck that was, Ray. There's a section in here about the possibility of people who might be able to, either temporarily or permanently, block other people's abilities, although this Suresh guy calls them 'manifestations.'

"He's got an entire damned chapter devoted to what he calls Power Sharing. Apparently, that entire group, in theory, should be able to absorb, or mimic, or copy, either temporarily or permanently, other manifestations. There are probably a dozen variants listed here." Closing the book, she looked back at Ray. "Wasn't there a phone number in that letter?"

Handing it over, he narrowed his eyes in thought. "On the bottom. Why?"

Picking up the nearby phone, she called the number. "Maybe this Mohinder guy has some answers."

After several rings, a noticeably accented voice came on the line. "Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Professor Suresh?"

"It is."

"This is Gertrude Ransome. You sent me a copy of your father's book a few months ago. I was wondering if you could answer a couple questions for me."

"Certainly. Before we begin, though, is this personal or professional?"

With a short laugh, Tru said, "About as personal as you can get."

Mohinder's voice grew interested. "Have you experienced something recently that you are unable to explain?"

"You could put it that way, I suppose."

"I suspected as much."

"How?"

She could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I only mailed three or four copies of my father's book. All of them to people he suspected had a high probability of manifesting." After a brief pause, he cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be best for us to meet in person. I assume your questions regard the nature and possible problems of your manifestation?"

"Basically, yes."

"And might I ask from where you are calling?"

"Los Angeles, California."

"Excellent. I'm in France for a couple days, but I'll be traveling through California soon. I should be able to arrange things to allow me to be in LA on the 25th. Would that work?"

"One minute." Pulling her schedule out from the side table, she glanced through it. "Actually, yes. It looks like both my partner and I have that day off."

"Excellent. If you'll give me your number, I will contact you once arrangements have been made."

After doing so and disconnecting, Tru relayed the information to Ray. After she finished, she flashed a tight grin. "Maybe now you'll explain what the fuck's up with you."

Startled, he nearly choked on his drink. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"How long have we been partners now? A couple years anyway? I know when something's bugging you, Ray. And something's been wrong since before the funeral."

"It may be nothing."

"Then again, it may be something?"

Shrugging, he described the dream from the night Rita died. When he finished, Tru stared at him for several minutes before cracking up. "Let me get this straight. You're worried about a sex dream?"

Laughing sheepishly, he nodded. "I suppose so; although worry might be too strong a term. Let's just say I'm a little concerned, and a lot interested."

"Why?"

"Some of what she told me I already knew. Some of what she said amounted to logical connections I could have easily made, assuming I hadn't already. But some of what she said was stuff there was no possible way I could have known, or even guessed." Taking a quick drink he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "Not just that, but I'm convinced I saw her at the cemetery as well."

Leaning back, she regarded him soberly. "You're starting to scare me, Ray."

With a quick grin, he shrugged. "I'm still as sane as ever, Tru."

"That's supposed to reassure me?" With a puzzled look, she leaned forward. "You realize what you're saying don't you? And, more importantly, what just about anyone but me would be thinking right now?"

"What? That saying 'I see, and fuck, dead people,' makes me sound like a raving lunatic? Yeah, I got it."

"Not necessarily the way I'd have put it, partner, but that's pretty much it."

"And a week ago, hell, three days ago, I'd have said the same damned thing. But, if you'd told me that people would be capable of moving just by thinking about it, even of killing people that way, I'd have called you all kinds of crazy."

"Point taken." Opening the book, she began to thumb through it again. "Anything new and exciting going down?"

"Cases, you mean?" At her nod, he shrugged. "Don't know how exciting it is, but the Captain's got me working a series of high-dollar thefts."

Confused, she glanced up at him. "Since when does theft belong to Major Case?"

With a slight grunt, he pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages. "Since the perp's already made off with almost three hundred million."

Startled, she swore. "Three hundred? Damn! How the hell're they pulling it off?"

"No one knows. That's what's pissing me off. Whoever's doing this is damn good. No prints, no usable images, and they're taking the money out of fully secured safes. The safe gets locked, the security system gets activated, and when they get to work the next day the safe is still locked, the security system is still activated, and the safe is completely empty."

"You mentioned an image. We talking about an image from surveillance tape?"

In disgust, he closed his notebook. "If that's what you want to call it. It's a grainy piece of video from a shit camera. You can, vaguely, make out a shape moving in the background before the entire thing goes black."

"It stops?"

"No. It just goes black. After several minutes it clears back up, but everything's gone."

"Shit!"

Rubbing his forehead, he agreed. "Tell me about it. I've got them mapped out, trying to find a pattern, or a link of some kind, but I'm coming up dry right now." With a self-conscious grin, he shrugged. "I'm secretly hoping for another theft so our friend can fuck up."

"You need another set of eyes, Ray."

"You think I don't know it? The problem's nobody wants to partner with me knowing you'll be back in a few days."

With a grunt, she automatically scanned the page she was on. "Wait a minute. Here's something that might explain your dream and the cemetery."

The abrupt change of conversation threw him for a minute. "My dream? Oh, you mean that whole Rita thing?"

"Of course. What else would I be talking about?"

"Never mind. You just lost me for a minute."

"Whatever. This guy says you may not be crazy. Here; read." Pointing to the section in question, she handed the book to him.

_ From the beginning of recorded history, there have been those who claimed an ability to communicate with those who had died. In many, perhaps in most, such cases, they were either liars or lunatics. In some cases, however, the situation seems to have been different._

_ For them, the information they claimed to have received from the deceased was consistently accurate. Although this, in itself, is not enough to prove authenticity, it is strongly indicative. That authenticity is further aided when the information seems of a type that the person could have no reasonable way to know or learn. The one thing each of the few seemingly legitimate communications had in common was that the deceased had a close relationship, be it familial, sexual or platonic, with the deceased. _

_ As these people have come forward through history, they have been burned as witches, heralded as prophets and worshiped as deities. The truth, though much simpler, is no less special. In a world where human flight, telepathy, and spontaneous tissue regeneration exist, is it truly so improbable that a genomic mutation would grant a select few the ability to communicate with those who have died?_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Yes, this chapter was pretty much filler material. Unfortunately, there was no way around it. A lot of this information was necessary, and I could find absolutely no other way to get it in. I promise that this is going to be the only filler chapter in the series. From here on out, things are going to start getting interesting.


	5. Chapter 5: Send A Thief

_**January 20- 24, 2007**_

Tru had just finished dressing for work when her bedroom door slammed open. "That asshole you call a partner's here."

Rolling her eyes, she finished belting on her weapon. "And?"

Her mother had been furious since the start of Tru's suspension, but had waited to say anything. "When the FUCK are you going to wake up, Gertrude? There were two of you involved in that, but you'll notice that you were the ONLY DAMNED ONE to get in trouble!"

Slipping past her long enough to slam the door, Tru whirled on her mother in fury. "Listen, damn it. I've put up with your shit for almost thirty fucking years! I get that you have some sort of seriously fucked-up Man Hate because of my father, all right? But this is not some sort of goddamned anti-woman campaign. Christ, Mom, I fucking SHOT SOMEONE! THAT was the reason they suspended my ass. Would I do it again? DAMN FUCKING RIGHT, but it was my goddamn bullet, not Ray's, that put the guy down! THAT'S THE ONLY FUCKING REASON RAY WASN'T FUCKING SUSPENDED!!! Not only did he not put a hole in our suspect, but he doesn't have a list of brutality complaints, most of them justified, a mile long. Damn it, Ma, they had no fucking choice but to suspend me!"

Nearly tearing her door of its hinges, she turned her back on her speechless mother and stormed down the hall. Grabbing what she needed, she put on her coat and yelled, "Ray? Let's get the fuck out of here."

As they drove to the station, he glanced over where she sat steaming in the passenger seat. "Problems?"

Closing her eyes, she shrugged. "The usual. Everything's a big fucking conspiracy to keep her perfect rape-daughter from getting ahead in a man's world."

"Thought I heard something like that."

"You were listening?"

"I was actually trying not to, but you were… explaining things to her a little too loudly to miss. Let me guess; you got put on leave, but I didn't, so it's a conspiracy?"

With a bitter grin, she nodded. "She deliberately ignores facts in favor of her seriously fucked-up paranoid-delusions." Deliberately shrugging the fight aside, she looked out her window. "Anything new on the thefts?"

"I wish. Things've been quiet the past couple days. You'll see what all we've got when we get there." He was about to say something further when the radio interrupted. Frowning, he picked it up. "This is Taylor."

"Report to the Corinthian Casino. They just reported a robbery."

"Roger. On our way."

Flipping on the lights and siren, he made a u-turn and sped to the crime scene. "Looks like you'll see one first hand, Gert."

Inside the casino, which had closed due to the theft, they found the manager sitting at the bar. Looking up from the table, he forced a smile. "Morning, detectives. Care for a drink?"

Ray looked critically at the half-full glass on the counter and shook his head. "No thanks. What happened?"

Standing up, he shrugged. "Want to see the safe first? Or the surveillance?"

After a glance at Tru, Ray grinned. "We'll take the safe."

Leading them down to the basement, he explained how the theft had been discovered. "A couple hours ago, I sent one of the hostesses, Gina Bell, down to refresh the Pit. Maybe 10 minutes later she flipped the alarms."

Tru was looking around as they went down the hall. "Looks like a good security set up. How much did they get?"

Stopping outside the open vault door, he gestured them ahead. "See for yourselves."

The massive safe, roughly the size of an expensive suite of apartments, had been stripped bare. Not even a roll of quarters remained. Staring around in complete shock, all she could say was, "Holy fuck!"

Ray had seen it several times already. Looking back at the manager, he pulled out his notebook. "How much?"

"I don't have exact figures right now, but I do know the amount to have been in excess of three hundred million."

Staggered by the amount he could only stare at his notebook. Tru had started locating the various security measures and taking notes. Whistling in surprise, she looked at the list. "Christ! Looks like six or eight cameras, a motion detector, heat sensors and trip-beams at several different heights and angles around the room. Given what I can see, I'm assuming there are pressure sensors in the floor as well?" When he nodded, she shook her head. "How the hell's that work?"

"Everyone with authority to open the safe is given a three-digit identification code. When you input the code, the computer asks you whether you are withdrawing or depositing, and how much; you have to input an exact amount. When the door opens, the lasers are turned off and the pressure sensors are instructed to ignore the weight of a single person; whoever inputs the code must enter alone. The pressure sensors in the drawers and shelves are semi-intelligent; they 'know,' through the weight, the precise amounts they hold. They are instructed to allow the amount input at the door to either be added or removed from them. If you take or leave more an in-safe warning is issued and you are given an opportunity to fix what may be a legitimate mistake. If after 3 minutes the mistake hasn't been fixed, the safe closes, the entire labyrinth down here goes into lockdown, and an alarm goes out over the security channels."

Thinking quickly, Ray asked, "Did the alarm go off?"

"No. However it was they defeated the security system, they beat the entire thing."

Looking over at Tru, who nodded, he put his notebook away. "We're gonna need to see that footage."

"Of course. Is that all you need down here?"

Shrugging, Tru followed behind them. "I think so. Crime Scene'll be here soon. They'll obviously need to look around."

Shrugging, he led them to the security room above the main floor. On the way, Tru noticed a small, dark room. "What's in there?"

Glancing over his shoulder, the manager laughed. "Maybe thirty, forty years ago, a while before Mr. Linderman bought this chain and renamed it, this was one of several mob-owned casinos; the Gambino's, I think. That room was where people caught cheating were… persuaded… to stop. We still stick people caught cheating in that room, even give them time to look at the marks on the table and the stains on the wall before we join them. We take their information and put them in the system. If they've been caught at any other casino, anywhere in the country, they get blacklisted. If they haven't, they're warned and told to leave for the night." Showing them into the security room, he cued up the footage from the safe and left them alone. After a few hours, they were leaving the casino.

Back at the precinct, the Captain waved them into his office. Once they were seated, he leaned back in his chair. "What's the situation?"

Ray glanced through his notes. "Same shit, different day. Like all the others, this one was completely impossible. There's no way that door could be forced without setting off enough alarms to wake the dead, and there's no other way in."

"Surveillance footage?"

"We scanned it before we left. The tapes are on their way to the techs, but it's the same damn story. You can vaguely make out that someone might be there, but it almost immediately goes blank for five, maybe ten, minutes; and when it clears everything's gone."

"How much"

"We'll get an exact number when the records get here, but the manager estimated at least three hundred."

Nearly choking on his coffee, the Captain gasped, "Million?" When Ray nodded, he fell back in his chair. "Christ! That nearly doubles what they've already grabbed." Looking out his window into the squad-room, he sighed heavily. "Do we have anything?"

Loosing a frustrated breath, Ray scratched at his chin. "I wish. Another dot in the map maybe, and another few hundred million to keep our eyes out for, but that's it."

Swearing under his breath, the Captain looked at his clock. "Grab some lunch, then get your asses to the war-room and find something."

Several hours later, they sat staring at the map. Having just finished walking her through the case, Ray threw his notes on the table in exasperation. "That's all we've got, Tru. No links; no patterns; no fucking clues."

Tru kept focused on the map. "There's always a pattern, Ray. You just haven't gotten a chance for a fresh look." Tearing her eyes away, she began flipping through the case notes on the table. After an hour, she stopped as she ran across a familiar name. "Didn't that manager tell us that Linderman owned that casino?"

Confused, he glanced at his notebook. "It sounds familiar. Yeah, he mentioned it when you asked about that room. Why?"

"Because I just ran across his name." Looking through the remaining paperwork, she made a series of notes. After an hour, Ray left to grab dinner for the two of them. After several more hours, nearly 8 that evening, she was finally finished.

Rubbing her forehead, she took a drink of her soda. "Counting the casino, there've been six of these thefts?" When Ray nodded, she picked up her notes. "In that case, I've found a potential link. In each location, the majority shareholder and at least one of the minority shareholders are on this list: Linderman, Petrelli, Deveaux and Bishop."

"You think they're being targeted?"

Looking thoughtfully at the map, she shrugged. "Maybe. We know Linderman was under investigation before his death derailed it. The Petrelli name was closely linked with him, and the family's fairly prominent, although they've mostly dropped from site. Not a clue about Bishop, but Deveaux rings a bell."

Resting her eyes for a minute, she glanced at the clock. "Christ! I didn't realize how fucking late it was! Let's get this shit to the lab and take off. Maybe the techs can get something out of this while we sleep."

* * *

Over the next couple of days the thief stayed quiet. Unfortunately, that helped keep the case frozen. Ray and Tru spent their days pouring over the case, praying for something to jump out at them. Thus far, nothing had done so.

Shortly before they were ready to leave on the twenty-third, the computer lab called. Putting it on speaker, Tru said, "Go ahead."

"Those names you gave us to search with? It took some digging, since the trails are hidden under a half dozen layers but there is one other business we could find. The majority shareholder is Bishop, with Petrelli as the largest minority holder."

"What can you give us?"

"It's some sort of clearing house for the Reserve. It even has an armored transport service attached."

Ray looked a little confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Every dime the Reserve sends us goes through one of maybe six or eight clearing houses before being distributed. This is one of them."

Looking through her notes, Tru commented, "We know the thefts have been committed in the morning, when the business in question had an unusually large amount on hand. When is this place scheduled for another shipment?"

"Give me a minute." After several minutes, the tech's voice came back over the line. "Looks like they have one tomorrow morning."

Jerking upright, Tru stared at the phone. "Fuck! Give me an amount and a time!"

"Umm… looks like about six hundred million coming in around 5 in the morning, and being shipped out around 7."

Leaping to her feet, she said, "Not to be rude but thanks and goodbye." Hanging up the phone, she spun on Ray. "Talk to the Captain. I'll get in touch with the business. Maybe we can catch this bastard."

Ray nodded and left while she dialed the phone. Knocking on the door, he entered the office. Finishing his call, the Captain hung up the phone. "What's up?"

"We may have caught a break."

"Thank God. What is it?"

"A couple days ago, Tru spotted the link. Following it, we think we've spotted the next target."

"What's the link?" After Ray explained what Tru had spotted, he grunted. "How the hell'd you miss that?"

"Tru's more intuitive than I am, and we only heard about Linderman that day. I was looking for the link from a different direction."

"All right. What do you need?"

"Tech found one business in the city with the shareholder link. They also learned the place will have better than a half billion on hand for about three hours tomorrow."

"And you think this guy'll show?"

Ray was about to answer when Tru knocked. After being waved in, she said, "Just spoke with their head guy. He was willing to let us set up in the safe when they move the money."

Staring thoughtfully into the squad-room, the Captain asked, "How certain are you about this?"

Glancing at Tru out of the corner of his eye, Ray weighed his options. "About as certain as we can be."

"All right. Do it."

After the vault was closed, locking them both inside, Ray looked around. "Shit. I've never seen this much cash in my life. Suppose they'd miss a few grand?"

Laughing, Tru picked up a stack of hundreds and smelled it before putting it back. "Probably. Not that you'd get anywhere, since I'm willing to bet we're being recorded."

"Not to mention we'll probably be strip-searched when they let us out?" After a few minutes of silence, he looked directly at his partner. "You realize this has the very real possibility of biting us in the ass?"

"Meaning?"

"If they don't show up or, even worse, get away, we'll probably be looking for work next week."

Shrugging, she leaned against the shelves behind her. "Possibly."

As 5 became 6 and moved on toward 7, they both began to worry more about the possibility of nobody showing up. Finally, at 6:30, Ray detected a slight movement near Tru. Raising a hand sharply, he caught her attention and pointed it out before slipping further into his concealment.

An inky blackness grew on the floor and a woman emerged, seeming almost to grow out of the shadowy stain. She was wearing dark clothing and a hood of some sort, but her green eyes seemed to pierce the darkened interior as she looked around.

Tru and Ray were hidden behind pellets of money, which allowed them to see her without being spotted. Apparently satisfied that she was alone, she looked for the surveillance cameras. With a grin, she waved her hand. "We can't have that, now, c'n we." Dark shadows enveloped the cameras, preventing them from seeing what was happening.

In her thickly accented, husky voice, she muttered, "Now, then. Let's see how quick ye c'n make a bloody half billion disappear, Devnet."

Drawing his weapon, Ray stood from his concealment and took aim. "Police; don't move!"

Her shoulders hunched as she glanced back at him, her emerald eyes narrowed in fury. "Ah, fuckin' 'ell!" Ray watched in stunned horror as she spun around and thrust her fist toward him. A shadowy black rod emerged and launched toward him, barely missing as he threw himself to the ground.

Tru watched the woman shrug and make a vague gesture. An inky pool appeared a few feet away. As the woman crossed the distance, Tru stood and took aim, desperate to stop her from vanishing. That same sensation of the breaking wave overcame her as she shouted, "Not so fast, bitch!"

As the wave dissipated, the pool disappeared and the darkness surrounding the cameras vanished. The woman looked around in horror, then spun in rage and thrust her fist toward Tru. When nothing happened, her eyes widened as she realized something had suddenly rendered her powerless, and then narrowed in rage. With an incoherent shriek, she leapt at Tru, fingers clawed.

With a broad smile, Tru ducked the attack and slammed her heel into the base of the woman's skull in a vicious side kick. As she crumpled unconscious to the ground, Tru took out her radio. "All right, Captain. Don't ask me how she got in, or how she planned on getting out, but we've got her." Taking her handcuffs, she slapped them on the unconscious woman's wrists. Once that was done, she did a quick frisk of her body, then checked her pulse and respiration.

Rubbing the shoulder he'd slammed into the floor, Ray walked over to them. "She all right?"

Standing up, she flashed a wicked grin. "Yeah. She'll have a blinding headache when she wakes up, but that's it."

Wincing as he massaged the shoulder, he grunted, "I think I can live with that." Glancing down, he asked, "Any clue how the hell she pulled it off?"

Looking past him, she pointed toward where he had been standing. "Not a clue, but you were damn lucky."

"Holy God!" Walking over to the wall, he saw a small, perfectly formed hole carved in it. "What the fuck?"

Just then the Captain led a small group of officers into the vault. Stopping just inside the door, he stared at the unconscious woman. "Shit. Is she all right?" When Tru nodded, he pointed out a pair of officers. "You and you haul her out." Looking back at Tru, he raised an eyebrow. "Why's she asleep?"

Tru shrugged. "She threw something at Ray, and then attacked me. She missed; I didn't. I sort of figured unconscious was better than bleeding."

Rolling his eyes, he turned to Ray, who showed him the hole. "Holy fucking shit! What the hell'd she throw?"

Shrugging, Ray grimaced as his injured shoulder objected. "Don't know. As soon as she acted like she was throwing something, I hit the ground."

"Good idea. What's with the shoulder?"

"I landed on it. Feels bruised."

"There's an ambulance outside, since I wasn't sure what hell you two would raise in here. Get yourself checked out."

* * *

The next day was interviews and paperwork. Ray's shoulder had been badly bruised and had suffered a minor sprain, so he was taken to the hospital. The doctor put him in a sling for a week, and prescribed painkillers and an anti-inflammatory.

In the interview room, they were sitting across the table from the woman they had arrested. Tru was looking through the case notes in front of her. "So, Ms. Cormac-"

"How'd ye know m'name, bitch?"

Shrugging, she smiled. "We didn't. You called yourself Devnet, and we've had our eyes out for a woman with that name, so I took a gamble. Thanks for confirming. Anyway, we have you for attempted grand larceny of six hundred million. All things considered, we can make the case for you having actually stolen another six hundred and thirty-five million. Now, nobody on earth needs that much themselves, and they certainly don't steal it for personal use. So, who were you funding?"

"Sit 'n' spin!"

Shifting his arm in the sling, Ray leaned back. "We have you linked with an arrest we made a couple weeks back. Maybe you recognize the name Angus Sullivan?" the slight widening of her eyes was all the confirmation the detectives needed. "We know he was acting as a hit man for someone, but we're not sure who. We do know, or strongly suspect, that it's the same person you were, shall we say, fundraising for. Give us a name, and we should be able to cut a deal."

"Go bugger yerself an' git me a fuckin' lawyer!" At the magic words they gathered their notes and left the room, cursing once they were out of her hearing.

The final hours were tied up with more paperwork. Finally Ray drove Tru home. Before she got out of the car, he looked over at her. "What time do you need me here tomorrow?"

Opening the door, she thought for a minute. "His flight's supposed to be in at 9:45. We'll probably want to leave here around 6 or 7." Glancing at the time on his dash, she thought quickly. "It's nearly midnight. Counting the drive to your place and the drive back, you'll be lucky to get five or six hours. Why don't you stay here tonight?"

"What about Delilah?"

"Mom's not here tonight. She has some sort of big meeting out of town, so she's gone for a couple days. We have a spare room, with a bath if you want it, and I know you carry a spare outfit in your trunk."

After a moment's thought, he agreed. After he parked the car, they went inside. 10 or 15 minutes later, after showing him the guest room, she was soaking in a hot bath. After an hour, she started drying off and shutting off her lights. When she had turned off every light save her bed lamp, she slipped into the pajamas she planned on sleeping in, and tossed the towel into the bathroom.

As soon as she had done so, she spotted an odd shadow on the wall nearby. Before she had a chance to realize what was going on, she was being drawn into it. Less than a minute later, she found herself in the frigid air, wearing only the skimpy pajamas she had pulled on earlier, near a street lamp. Swearing under her breath, she looked around. "Where the fuck am I?"

Slipping back into the nearby shadows, she attempted to get her bearings. "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!" She had somehow emerged three houses down from her own. Sprinting the distance, she grabbed the hidden key and slipped into her own room. Less than an hour, she managed to fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6: Discoveries

_**January 25- 26, 2007**_

Waiting in the airport lobby, Tru and Ray kept an eye on the incoming flights. For a change, everything was running smoothly. At 10 they were holding the handwritten sign, to let Professor Suresh know who he was meeting, and watching the disembarking passengers. After another 10 or 5 minutes of waiting, one spotted them and headed their way.

With a dark complexion, and a mop of curly black hair, he wore a cream suit and a tan overcoat, and carried a well used messenger bag. His distinct accent identified him as the man Tru had spoken with on the phone. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. "Hello. I'm Mohinder Suresh. And you are Ms. Gertrude Ransome?"

With a smile, she took the proffered hand. "Please call me Tru, Professor."

Answering her smile with one of his own, he shrugged. "I shall. And I prefer Mohinder; Professor is a title I mostly reserve for my teaching and lectures." Turning, he offered his hand to Ray. "And you would be her partner?"

Taking the hand, Ray grinned slightly at the implied question. "We're detectives with the LAPD Major Case Squad. They partnered us up a couple years ago now. I'm Radulf Taylor, but you can call me Ray."

"All right. Now, if you will assist me with my bags, we can go somewhere private and begin."

Several hours later, having taken only a brief break for lunch, he was running yet another in a series of tests using her blood. Head down over his microscope, he had been asking a steady stream of questions. Finally he leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The mutation is definitely present. How long since you noticed your manifestation?"

"Umm… Must've been the fourteenth, I think?" Glancing at Ray for confirmation, she asked, "Wasn't that when we caught Sullivan?" When he nodded, she thought for a second. "Guess that'd make it about eleven days now."

"And what was the nature of your manifestation?"

Shrugging, she walked him through the events of that night. When she reached the part concerning her accidental teleportation he sat back in stunned amazement. "Fascinating." Looking thoughtfully at Ray, he tapped his pen lightly on the notepad beside him. "You hinted you believed yourself to have an ability as well. Could you explain?"

Carefully avoiding the sexual nature of the dream, he described Rita's revelations to him, as well as her seeming presence at the cemetary. When he finished, Mohinder thumbed through a series of files in his bag. With a satisfied nod, he pulled a couple out and reached for a clean syringe. "If you wouldn't mind, I'll test your blood for the mutation. If, as I suspect, it's present, I'd like to run some tests with both samples."

After another hour, he cleared his throat. "The mutation is definitely present in your sample, Ray." Setting aside the slide he had been looking at, he took out a new one and placed more of Tru's sample on it. Getting the settings he wanted, he spent several minutes looking at the sample and taking some notes. Picking up the syringe containing Ray's sample, he placed a small amount on the slide beside Tru's, and peered through the microscope for several more minutes.

Swearing under his breath in Hindi, he pulled away from the microscope after another 10 or 15 minutes. Putting on a fresh slide, he powered up his laptop and opened a program. Connecting the microscope to the computer, he placed a little more of Tru's sample on the slide, and adjusted the settings again. Turning back to the computer, he spent a couple more minutes verifying that everything was running the way he wanted, then turned back to the microscope and placed a small amount of Ray's sample on the slide as well.

After another quarter hour of tense silence, he relaxed in his chair and contemplated the monitor in shock. Finally he put on his reading glasses and glanced down at his notes. "Well, let's start with the easy one." Looking at Ray, he smiled slightly. "You definitely have what my father labeled the Special Genome. Based on your description, I believe your particular ability to be Non-Corporeal Communication."

Blinking in confusion, Ray scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry? What was that?"

"Essentially, to coin a rather trite phrase, you speak to dead people. This particular manifestation is one I'm not particularly comfortable with because, although it is quite real, it seems almost to border on the supernatural."

"But, I'm not going crazy."

Laughing warmly, Mohinder shook his head reassuringly. "Certainly not. My father's research indicates that, in those rare instances where this ability has manifested, there was a close relationship between the deceased and what my father terms the Special. There is also the possibility that it involves Precognition, since his research indicates that some of the deceased revealed information the Special could not have known, including some limited foresight."

Tru leaned forward eagerly. "And mine?"

Turning back to his computer, Mohinder said, "Unlike Ray, your ability is entirely physical and mental, and completely explainable scientifically. However, it is no less extraordinary." Pulling up the file he wanted, he waved them both over. "On the left is your sample, Tru. And Ray's is on the right. Now watch; at this point, note the changes both undergo at virtually the same instant."

After several minutes, Tru glanced at Ray and shrugged in puzzlement. Ray looked back at the computer. "Could you tell us what we just saw, Mohinder?"

"Certainly. Hold on a moment." Restarting the sequence, he focused on Tru's sample. "At this point, Tru's DNA is at rest; doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Now, note the sudden activity when I place Ray's sample on the slide. That initial burst of activity appears to be her Genome noting the presence of Ray's. At this point, her Genome is, essentially, resequencing her DNA." Catching their expressions, he smiled lightly. "Think of it as installing new software on a computer. It doesn't delete old information, but the programming has to be altered slightly to allow use of the new software. That is, basically, what Tru's DNA is doing here. In and of itself, that would not have been entirely unique. I have already encountered another such person, with the ability of Empathic Mimicry, who does much the same thing."

Shifting the focus to Ray's sample, he began to speak excitedly. "What makes Tru's ability so fascinating is what happens here. At this point you'll note that Ray's sample is completely at rest. This is when Tru's genome is copying the information in Ray's DNA. However, note the alteration that begins… now. This sequence shows something I have never seen. It would appear that Tru's genome is literally rewriting the DNA in Ray's sample. Unlike the previous rewrite, in which her genomic mutation caused her DNA to be rewritten, encoding the newly acquired ability into her system, this one seems aimed exclusively at removing the information. And, as of now, the sample has been completely rewritten, with all traces of the Special Genome removed. It's as if the ability encoded in Ray's sample never even existed."

Turning to face them, his face held a wry grin. "There's a certain irony at work here, Tru. You are a Los Angeles Major Case detective, and your manifestation amounts to a theft; specifically, Special Genomic Copying And Deletion." Taking a moment to back out of the program, he closed down the computer and began to clean his work space on the table. "I did notice that there were a couple sequences which had already been similarly added to your DNA. I assume one of them is the teleportation you talked about earlier. What can you tell me about the other sequence?"

Once she had described the events surrounding the capture of Devnet Cormac, as well as what had happened the previous night, he started thumbing through more files. "There are a couple possibilities I can think of offhand, although there are probably dozens more I am unaware of." Scratching at his chin thoughtfully, he asked, "You said it was dim in the vault and mostly dark in your room?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I would like to conduct a bit of an experiment." Standing, he closed the shades and turned off most of the kitchen lights. After doing so, he flashed a comforting smile. "What I would like for you to do is hold you hands in front of you." When she extended them, he said, "Now, concentrate on making a weapon of some sort appear there."

Frowning, she closed her eyes and concentrated. After several minutes the sweat drenched her face as she poured herself into the task. A few minutes later she felt a warm glow suffuse her body as a portion of her mind crafted the weapon. Opening her eyes, she watched as a black shadow seemed to coalesce around her clenched fist, crafting a knife that gloved the hand and wrist.

With one finger, Mohinder lightly touched the ebony blade, wincing when he received a small cut. "Amazing." Taking a few notes while holding the offended digit in his mouth, he set down his pen and muttered, "I wonder…"

Glancing back at Tru, he nodded. "You can go ahead and get rid of the knife." Watching as it seemed to dissipate, almost like sugar in water, he blinked in awe. "Spectacular. Now, from what you described I suspect there is a portation aspect to this ability. Moreover, I believe what happened to you was your mind attempting to come to terms with this ability. Essentially, it opened the entrance but failed, as they say, to have an exit strategy. Since you had nowhere definite set as your exit, you emerged in a mostly random location.

"What I would like for you to do now is concentrate on opening an entry portal directly beside you, with the clear intent to exit on the kitchen side of the door."

Ray interrupted quickly. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Perhaps; but not as dangerous as failing to have control of her abilities could well prove."

Standing up, Tru shrugged. "All right, let's do this." Staring at the floor in front of her, she concentrated on trying to open the portal, keeping in mind where she wanted to come out. After several minutes, just as she was about to give up, a shadowy spot appeared beside her and began to grow. Once it had reached a size where she could fit, it stopped. Moving cautiously, she stepped into it.

Almost as soon as she disappeared into the inky pool, she fell out of another that had appeared in the door. Picking herself up from the floor, she mumbled, "Shit."

Watching her closely, Mohinder raised an amused eyebrow. "Do you think you can teleport back to where you were originally standing?"

Nodding, she straightened up. "I can try, I guess." Closing her eyes, she slowed her breathing and concentrated on being There instead of Here. Before she realized what was happening, Ray was using his good arm to guide her into the chair. Opening her eyes, she realized she had crossed the kitchen. Wearily taking the water Ray offered, she glanced at Mohinder. "Did I…?"

"Yes."

"Why am I so weak and tired right now?"

Scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully, he shrugged. "I'm not entirely certain. At a guess, I'd suggest it has something to do with using your mind in ways you are unaccustomed to. Similar, at least in theory, to beginning a new exercise regimen. The more frequently you use these abilities, and any you may yet acquire, the easier and less exhausting that use will become."

Glancing at the clock, he began to put his papers and equipment away. "I mentioned a couple possibilities for your most recently obtained ability. It is possible, perhaps even likely, that the possibilities are related, even identical. The first, more fanciful, term is Umbrakinesis; and that is the one you'll find in my father's book. It is the literal manipulation of shadow to achieve a variety of effects, including a variant of teleportation, concealment and defense. Here are persistent legends of great wizards or shamans capable of somehow fitting themselves into their shadow and traveling great distances, or using it to hide and spy. There are even legends and myths about people who armed and armored themselves in shadow to fight."

Frowning in thought, Ray asked, "Is that even possible? I mean, unless my teachers were all wrong, a shadow is simply what appears when you block light. Isn't it?"

Nodding, Mohinder smiled briefly. "And therein lies the problem with Umbrakinesis. I, personally, believe the term to be a fanciful misnomer for what is actually Dark Matter Manipulation. Unlike shadow, dark matter is physical and measurable; it is a presence, not an absence. There is research indicating it can be manipulated by mechanical means."

Standing up, Ray took the case containing Mohinder's equipment. "I don't know about you two, but I'm getting hungry. Why don't you let us take you to dinner, Mohinder? It's the least we can do after what you've done for us today. We can talk more over dinner."

A little later, over a comfortable meal, Mohinder looked around quickly, and then leaned forward. Keeping his voice low, he said, "There are a few things I need to warn you about. The first thing regards your ability, Tru. As I mentioned, I met an Empathic Mimic last year and learned that his ability, while making him potentially one of the most powerful men on earth, came with a significant Achilles' heel. Taking on too many abilities at once placed him in a coma for two weeks. After waking up, but before having a chance to fully assimilate the abilities that had caused the coma, he encountered another highly unstable ability, and almost immediately came into contact with a new group of abilities. The mix proved too powerful for him and, despite his best efforts, he ended up exploding." Seeing the fear in her eyes, he took a quick drink and smiled reassuringly. "In all honesty, I have to admit his ability worked quite differently from your own. Your ability seems to require a conscious decision, or Ray would no longer have his own. The Empath I was talking about didn't have that option. His ability was always on, immediately copying all abilities it came across. Also, he had manifested only a short time prior to the initial influx of abilities, and did not yet understand what was happening. You now have a much better grasp of what is going on then he did. I only brought that point up to caution you against becoming greedy."

Pausing for a minute, he took another drink and brought them both in with his gaze. "This brings up another point, and it concerns the both of you. There is a man who murders others who have manifested in order to obtain their abilities. He goes by the name Sylar." At Tru's startled gasp, he raised an eyebrow. "You've heard the name?"

Nodding, she said, "I was the first investigator on-scene for the Walker homicides last year; maybe 10 ten minutes later that Feds yanked the damn case. I heard Matt mention the name once."

"Officer Parkman?"

Blinking in surprise, she stared at him for a minute. "You know him?"

Laughing, he leaned back in his chair. "Absolutely. He's adopted the Walker girl, Molly. While he tries to get his NYPD Detective shield, he's sharing an apartment with me."

"I'm glad he's giving it another try. He was a good cop, and a better man than that fuck-slut of a wife, Janice, deserved."

With a gentle smile, he nodded. "Perhaps. I suspect he'd argue that point."

"Of course he would. Which actually proves the point. Hell, that bitch didn't even wait for him to be released from the Intensive Care Unit before telling him not to waste time coming home."

"You cared for him?"

"Yes. He's a good man, and a great friend."

As they finished their dinners, Mohinder set his napkin on his plate. "One thing I forgot to mention earlier; there is a group you need to be wary of. They have no name, and few people know they even exist. They abduct and study those who manifest abilities. They also offer a brutal choice to those they find useful; join or die. They also kill anyone who gets in their way, as well as those they deem most dangerous."

Looking at him skeptically, Ray put money down for the tip and stood to go. Sorry, Professor, you're starting to lose me here. Seriously; a secret organization?"

With an understanding look in his eyes, Mohinder also prepared to leave. "Believe me; you have no idea how hard it was for me to accept their existence." Glancing to where Tru was pulling on her coat, he asked, "Remember when Matt dropped out of sight for a couple days, shortly after the Walker murders?" When she nodded, he explained. "They grabbed him. He doesn't remember anything that happened, because they have someone capable of erasing memories, but he woke on his sofa with a pair of tracking marks."

Stopping what she was doing, Tru stared at him. "Matt's got a power too?"

"A form of telepathy, actually. From what he's said, he literally hears people's thoughts." He watched in confusion as her expression rapidly went from puzzled to amused. When she started to laugh, he asked, "Is something wrong?"

Catching her breath, she shook her head. "Not at all. Something finally made sense is all." Looking at Ray, she asked, "Remember when Matt, apparently unprovoked, tried to beat McHenry to death? How much you want to bet it wasn't as unprovoked as everyone thought?"

During the drive to Mohinder's motel, Tru glanced in the mirror at him. "What can you tell me about this group?"

"Unfortunately, very little. I had hoped Linderman's death would stop them, but they seem to be larger than I had realized."

Ray jerked his head around quickly. "Did you just say Linderman was a part of this?"

"Yes. From what I've been able to learn, he seems to have been one of the primary figures. Why?"

Staring out the window in blank confusion, he scratched at his injured arm. "Because we just ran across his name in a case. Do the names Petrelli, Deveaux or Bishop mean anything to you?"

"Not really. I know a Petrelli, of course. Peter was the Empath I was telling you about. And Simone Deveaux ran an art gallery in New York before vanishing. That's all I really know about any of the names. Why?"

Shrugging in frustration, Tru pulled into the motel. "Because, somehow, those four names are tied together."

* * *

The phone was ringing off the hook, waking Tru from a deep sleep. Glancing groggily at her clock, she swore as she slapped around for the phone. "Whoever you are, you're fucking dead!" 

The Captain's voice came over the line. "Ransome?"

"Sir?"

"Get your ass showered and dressed. Taylor's on his way over now. We've got a situation right up your alley."

When the line went dead, she glanced back at her clock as she sat up. "5:30 in the damned morning? Fuck!"

She had just finished her shower when Ray knocked on the door. Slipping into her robe, she grinned mischievously as a thought struck her. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she teleported to the door and opened it before teleporting back to her room. 5 minutes later she concentrated again and stepped into the portal that appeared, emerging in her living room. As chance had it, Ray had just relaxed into the recliner, facing away from her. With a sudden grin, she walked up behind him. "Well, this could come in handy."

Jerking to his feet, he spun toward the sound. "Christ, Tru!"

"Ready to go?"

"Shit! What the hell's the big idea? Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Shrugging, she headed out the door. "The professor said I should practice. That's what I'm doing."

Following her to the car, he shook his head helplessly. "Warn me next time, will you?"

On the road, she threw a questioning glance at her partner. "Captain give you any ideas about why we're going in on our day off?"

"Just that he has something big down at the station."

When they arrived, they were quickly ushered into the largest of the briefing rooms. The Captain sat at the table beside Tris and several members of the Crime Scene Unit, including Bobbi, the supervisor. They all seemed to be pouring over a case, along with Buzz from Anti Crime and a pair of first year Major Case detectives. Glancing up when the door opened, the Captain slumped in relief. "Thank God. Get your asses over here; maybe you can make sense of this shit."

Sitting down with matching expressions of confusion, they looked at each other briefly. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Tru asked the question. "What's going on?"

"Damned if I can figure it out. Buzz?"

The huge Australian stood from where he had been lounging with a cup of coffee. "Right. We got a tip, maybe 12, 16 hours ago now. Seems the 13th Streeters were fixing to move enough dope and merch through that warehouse of theirs to triple ops nearly overnight. According to the tip, they were having a regular flea market for all things illegal. The information was the kind of stuff that would've made ol' Elliot Ness cream his pants.

"Anyway, we show up when and where and pull off the perfect raid. It couldn't have gone smoother if we had set it up for training. This thing went like clockwork. There were just a couple small problems."

Before he could continue, Tru cleared her throat. "Let me guess; no money, the best and most mobile of the merchandise was gone, and there were some bodies lying around?"

With a shocked grin, he nodded. "And Pretty Lady gets the prize."

Putting a restraining hand on her arm, Ray tightly shook his head. "Bad idea, Buzz. Calling her Pretty Lady is a good way to make her decide God was a little overly generous in allowing you to breed."

With a quick shrug, he glanced back at Tru. "Sorry. How'd you guess?"

"Didn't really have to. You brought it to MC. That means something went wrong in a big way. You've got Tris in on this, which tells me there's at least one body. Those two, together, tell me whoever did the killing also took something when they left. A large group of strangers would have been noticed, even in that area, and you wouldn't need us. That means there were probably no more than four, six at the outside, in on it. That means the money would have been grabbed, since it's light, and the most readily mobile of the highest value merchandise as well."

With an appreciative nod, Buzz leaned against the wall. "Not bad. There's just a small snag. We don't have just one or two bodies. The 13th had five bosses, about a dozen lieutenants, and roughly a hundred soldiers. Every damned one of them was there; and the entire roster got whacked."

"Shit on a stick!" Leaning forward, Ray's face turned white with horror. "What the fuck happened?"

"Dunno. That's why we're all here." Sitting back down, he turned to face the Medical Examiner. "Tris?"

Opening her eyes reluctantly, she straightened up. "I've got bodies stacked three deep, every cutter I've got is working overtime, and we've still got better than seventy bodies left."

Ray flashed a puzzled grin. "Doesn't it take a couple hours to do an autopsy?"

"And this is why we've yet to do a complete one. It's been nothing but cut and dash." Pulling out a small evidence bag, she signed it and tossed it to Ray. "Been finding variations of that in every body."

Signing the bag, Ray slipped on the pair of latex gloves Bobbi tossed over and took out the evidence. "Holy God!" 'That' was a small bit of metal, bent and cracked. Enough markings remained for it to be recognizable as an American quarter. The force with which it had entered the body was plainly evident, as was something else. "What the… This has been heat-warped. Are those friction burns?"

Bobbi opened the file in front of her. "Yep. Not a fucking clue how it happened, but every last one of them shows similar trace. They entered the body with the same force I'd expect from a high caliber bullet."

"Christ! How the hell's that possible?"

"Not a clue. That's part of what we're trying to figure out."

Tru glanced at the other detectives. "This is all very interesting. I'm still not sure why the two of us are here. They may be new, but Dave and Shannon are perfectly capable detectives. Surely this is their case?"

Shrugging, the red haired Shannon stifled a yawn. "Sorry. Anyway, thanks but this actually looks to be your case."

Narrowing her eyes, Tru asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We traced the number the tip came from. The shock was it belonged to a cell phone, and the call didn't originate from anywhere near 13th territory."

"And?"

"The number was registered to Angus Sullivan."


	7. Chapter 7: Three Strikes

_**February 9-13 , 2007**_

Two weeks had passed. Fourteen days with no breaks in the bizarre series of murders and thefts. Plenty of new leads, all of which trailed into dead ends. A small handful of new corpses had been added, and millions in cash and property had been stolen, but not a single break had been forthcoming.

Tru and Ray spent virtually every waking moment together, and both were frequently known to spend the night in the other's residence; simply because they were too exhausted to face the drive back to their own place. When they weren't chasing down leads, reviewing their notes, or examining new evidence, they were practicing Tru's acquired powers.

Throwing her notebook onto the table in frustration, Tru shoved back in her chair and swore. "Damn it, Ray. What the fuck are we missing?"

While she stood and paced, swearing under her breath, Ray closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his temples. "I'm not sure we are. All we've got is a lot of nothing right now." Reopening his eyes, he glanced at where his partner was fuming. "I hate to say it, but I think what we need is another hit; and for him to fuck up this time."

"Then you might be in luck, Detectives." The new voice came from the break room's doorway.

When they turned to see who it was, they saw a petite blond had just entered. Tru looked quickly at Ray and shrugged. "Kate, right?" When the blond Officer nodded, she continued, "What did you mean?"

Shrugging, she said, "We just got a call. Turns out First National on Third was just robbed. Captain's already on his way; he wants you to join him."

Pulling up to the bank, they followed Crime Scene in. The bank manager was in one corner of the lobby speaking with the Captain. When he saw them enter, the Captain waved them over. "These are Detectives Ransome and Taylor. Tell them what you just told me."

Taking a deep breath, the manager nodded. "All right. We didn't know anything had happened until one of our tellers went to the vault. They're who set off the alarm."

Cocking an eyebrow, Ray glanced down the hall to where the CSU team was going over the vault. "The break-in didn't trip it?"

Shaking his head, the manager sighed. "No. I don't know how, but they managed to beat the alarm."

Before Tru had a chance to ask her question, a tech came up to them. "Detectives?" When he had their attention, he waved them back to the vault. "You're gonna want to see this."

Back at the vault, Ray whistled in slow astonishment. The hinges to the door appeared to have been severed, but that wasn't the surprising thing. The vault's door, several inches of solid steel, had been badly dented near the lock, and appeared to have been ripped out from the wall. "What the hell?"

The tech just shook his head. "Don't ask. We can't even imagine how that was done. What I brought you back here for was this." With one gloved hand, he pointed to a couple breaks in the wall nearby, and a wire running between them. "This is how your guy beat the alarm."

Tru stared at the scene for several minutes before asking the question. "All right. What are we seeing here?"

Shrugging, the tech walked them through it. Pointing to the spots in question, he said, "We'll obviously know more detail later, but I can give you the basics now. The alarm is a basic open-close circuit, with the vault door as the switch. As long as the door's closed, so's the circuit. As long as the circuit's closed, the alarm thinks the vault's secure. If the vault door opens, the circuit breaks. When the circuit breaks, the alarm raises holy hell. The only way to beat that is to key in the pass code. That temporarily closes a different path for the circuit, and the alarm has no clue what's happening.

"All that's to show this. The people who did this apparently knew the schematic, but didn't have the codes. They slammed a couple small pieces of metal into the wall, brushing against two of the key wires in the circuit. Once they slapped a wire between the metal pieces, the circuit had a new path, and the alarm thought nothing had happened. Then they did whatever to the door, and walked in like they owned the place."

"Inside job?" Tru hadn't moved from the vault door during the explanation.

"I can't tell you that from this. It could just as easily have been someone with a basic understanding of electronics."

Walking over to Tru, Ray nodded. "All right. Thanks." Lowering his voice, he asked, "What're you thinking?"

Sighing, she nodded at the damaged door. "I'm thinking there's no way in hell they brought in equipment to do that. Which means I'm thinking they had to use something, or somebody, that could do it quietly."

Narrowing his eyes, he glanced at the damage to the door. "What are you talking about?" When realization hit, his eyes widened and he took an involuntary breath. "Christ, Tru. Do you know what it'd take for a human to be able to do that?"

With a short grin, she shrugged. "Roughly, yeah. Don't forget who you're talking to here. It's natural for someone who can teleport and manipulate shadows to think along those lines."

Conceding the point, he coughed uncomfortably. "Still... shit." Thinking rapidly, he swore again. "Fuck. You realize what this means, Tru?"

Looking at him in confusion, she brushed her hair from her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you find it a little odd? We've had a series of crimes lately, all committed by those with special abilities. Theft, assassination, murder, probably extortion as well. Not to mention the case we've been working on the past weeks. Now you add this to the pile? We're dealing with a gang of some kind, Tru. Nothing else makes sense!"

Staring at the door thoughtfully, she nodded absently. After a couple seconds, she started to say something, but was interrupted when another tech called out, "Detectives? Over here."

Entering the vault, they looked around. Whoever the thief, or thieves more likely, had been, they had taken almost everything. A handful of cash, and the lowest coin amounts, were all that remained. Ray reached the tech first. "What've you got for us?"

Pointing to a hole in the wall, the woman grinned. "Your guy may have messed up. That used to be one of the security cameras in the vault." Pointing to another hole, she said, "That one too." Leading them over to what seemed to be nothing more than a small red light, she flashed another grin. "This one he missed."

Tru did a double take. "That's a camera?"

"Yep. And it's still working; which means you guys should have some footage to use."

Tru glanced back at Ray. "Could we possibly get that lucky?"

Shrugging, he muttered, "God, I hope so." As they turned to head back to the lobby, they realized the Captain and bank manager had followed them to the vault.

When asked about the camera, the manager scratched the back of his neck. "I had it installed maybe a month ago, I guess. Thieves have been getting smarter lately, so I figured this more hidden camera might help if something went wrong."

Smiling at the thought of a potential break in the case, Tru asked, "Where's the feed go?"

Leading them to the small room near his office, he showed them a group of monitors. "Everything comes here."

Turning on the dark monitors, Ray uttered a quick sigh of relief when one showed the techs checking over the vault. The camera worked.

The Captain cleared his throat from behind them. "I've got to get back to station now. I'm gonna have the Mayor, the city council, probably even the fucking dog catcher on my ass about this, looking for answers. You two need anything?"

Working the video controls, Tru squinted in thought. "Maybe have a computer tech sent up? If we find what I hope, we'll need one."

Nodding, he led the manager out of the room. While Tru continued working the controls, Ray kept an eye on the monitors. After several minutes, he leaned forward in interest. "Hold it, Tru."

"What?"

"Move it forward a little bit." While she complied, he stared at the monitor. "Right...there. All right, let's play it now."

Almost breathlessly, they watched the events unfold. The vault door shuddered once. Twice. The third shudder extended as it dented profoundly inward. The outside edges, already buckled outward by the impact, crumpled inward as two massive hands, black gloved, secured a grip and began to pull. After another second or two, the door was wrenched from the entry.

A muscular man, clad in jeans and a polo, but wearing a full ski mask, walked through the opening. Looking around quickly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a handful of coins. Selecting a couple of the largest items, he flipped it into the air. Although they couldn't see what he did, within seconds the other cameras were destroyed. Taking the mask off, they got their first look at his face.

Before Ray could do more than notice a shock of red hair, he found his arms full of petite detective as Tru launched herself into them and pressed her lips against his with a shriek of pure victory. Several seconds passed before he was even willing to break the kiss, and several more before he could.

When the tech finally arrived, a few minutes later, they were on opposite sides of the small room, looking everywhere but at each other in an uncomfortable silence. Clearing his throat, he glanced at the monitors. "You wanted me?"

Looking almost guiltily at her partner, Tru nodded. "Yeah. I think we've got a face now. We need you to grab it and run a check."

Setting down his bag, he started to pull out what he'd need. "No problem. Give me a minute to set up." After connecting his equipment, he said, "All right, now. I'll just copy the surveillance footage over...now, which face did you want run?"

Walking over, Tru watched the footage for a minute. "There...the guy who took off his mask after throwing something at the cameras."

"Excellent. Just give me a minute...isolate the face...enhance it to get the best possible match...now send it to the database to start running a check." Closing down his computer, he grinned. "It'll keep running even with me off-line. The problem is the sheer number of faces it has to check. It could take quite a while."

Shrugging, Ray headed out the door. "At least it's a start."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. They spoke with the techs to find out what they knew, then spent the rest of the day trying to fit the new facts into their investigation. They steadfastly refused to bring up the kiss.

* * *

The next day, as they came back from dinner, the computer tech called them from his lab. "Detectives? I think we may have something for you."

Several minutes later, they were standing behind him as he pulled up the profile he had been running. "Give me a minute. I just got the alert." When the face from the surveillance footage came up, so did a booking photo and record. "Interesting. Looks like your guy's been with us before."

Peering over the tech's shoulder, Ray read through the file. "Doesn't look like much. A couple of arrests, a B and E and an Assault." Running his eyes down the rest of the file, he pulled out his phone and called the DA. "This is Taylor. Can you get us an arrest warrant for Torin Fergus? The charge? Grand larceny; multiple homicides; multiple robberies."

After a brief pause, he nodded. "Evidence? We have him on tape in the First National heist yesterday. We have circumstantial evidence implicating him in the others...only for the First National job? That'll work for now, I guess...yes, Ma'am. We can hand deliver it inside twenty minutes."

* * *

A little over an hour later they were driving to the warehouse indicated as Fergus' place of residence. Glancing over at his partner before looking back at the road, Ray asked, "So, you wanna talk about it?"

Shaking her head, Tru stared straight out the window. "There's nothing to talk about, Ray."

"Bullshit, Tru. There was something going on there, and you damn well know it!"

Running her hand through her hair, she glared at him. "Fine; you wanna talk about it? Let's fucking talk!" Looking back out the window, she leaned back in the passenger seat. "You have clue fucking one about what happened? Because I sure as hell don't!

Trying to calm her down, he turned the corner and headed down the street to the warehouse. "No need to get so upset, Tru. It was just heat of the moment."

"That's bullshit, Ray. We both know better. I don't know what the fuck it was, but it damn sure wasn't just heat of the moment."

Glancing at the warehouses they were passing, he shrugged. "What was it then?"

Sinking back into her seat, she shook her head. "I don't know, Ray. I really don't. The girl you still loved was murdered not a month ago, and I'm not even a year out of a bad relationship myself. Not to mention the whole fucked up situation with Mom. So, I don't know what the fuck it was."

Stopping the car, he grabbed the warrant and looked over at her. "In other words, we don't know what it was, but it was something?"

Shugging, she offered an apologetic smile. "I guess."

Grinning suddenly, he said, "All right. As long as we're clear."

Once they were in place, she glanced into his face briefly and then nodded at the officer holding the door ram. When the door had been smashed open, they ran in, weapons ready.

After another ten minutes, during which they split up and cleared the rooms, Tru pulled out her radio. In disgust she called her partner. "Please tell me you got him, Ray. I've got shit on this end."

His voice came over the radio, as obviously irritated as her own. "Not a fucking thing. The son of a bitch skipped on us."

Moving her eyes around the room, she shook her head. "Something feels wrong about that. How the hell could he have known we were coming?"

Before he had a chance to answer, she noticed a small note in the trash. Carefully using the tips of her thumb and forefinger to grasp it by the very edge of one corner she pulled it out. Grinning tightly, she keyed the radio. "Ray? You have your phone with you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Pulling out her own, she snapped a picture of the paper and sent it to him. "Because I think we have our answer. How long do you think it'll take for us to get to that address?"

A couple seconds later his voice came back over the line. "All right, got it. If we go lights and sirens all the way? Twenty or thirty."

Breaking into a run, she said, "I'll meet you at the car."

* * *

Just over half an hour later, they pulled the car to a stop outside the new warehouse. Pulling their guns, they slid through the door, looking around to see if they had been spotted. They encountered a veritable warren of rooms and halls. Muttering under his breath, Ray swore. "Christ! It's gonna take for-fucking-ever to clear this damn place."

Thinking quickly, Tru smiled. "Maybe if we had to do it all on foot."

"What?"

Nodding toward the door on their left, she said, "You go ahead and start there. Work your way back."

"What about you?"

Holding out one hand, she grinned as a shadowy portal opened in front of her. "I'll do it my way."

Nodding, he rested a hand on her arm. "Be careful, Tru."

Smiling, she said, "Always."

After she disappeared, he shook his head and started his own search. After coming up empty for nearly an hour, he opened one final door and emerged in a massive storage garage.

Looking around, he saw hundreds of crates, stacked nearly to the rafters in spots. As his gaze traveled the length of the room, he realized that there were a small cluster of three or four men down at the far end, gathered around a truck. Ducking behind one of the stacks, he slowly worked his way down toward where the men were standing. On a sudden impulse, he locked open the mike on his radio.

Suddenly he heard the doors on the truck slam shut as the diesel engine started with an almost deafening roar. As the heavy garage door closed with an electric rattle, footsteps echoed near the crates he was currently hiding behind. "I know ye're there. Hiding behind the iPods we lifted off McSorley back in Cork, actually."

Glancing at the crates in shock, he realized that was precisely where he was. The voice, deep with a light Irish brogue, sounded amused. "Don't look so surprised, boy. I've known you were here since you come in the room. Take a look above and behind you."

Doing as directed, he found himself staring into the lens of a surveillance camera. Swearing under his breath, he shifted his grip on his weapon.

"Nice, huh? Had this place rigged for sight almost as soon as we bought it. Just in case anyone showed up with the idea of causing problems. You might as well come out. It's just you and me now."

Keeping his weapon down by his side, Ray slowly stood up, only to find himself staring over the barrel of a pistol into the eyes of Torin Fergus. With a wry grin, the man shrugged. "I said we were alone. I didn't say I was unarmed. Go ahead and drop the piece."

Complying, he stepped slowly out from behind the crates as he tossed the gun aside. As he did so, Fergus' eyes dropped automatically to his belt. With a broad grin, he tightened his grip on the gun. "Gold shield? That'd make you a Detective, right? Probably one of the ones making life so difficult for the boss. He'll give me a bonus for your ass."

"You don't want to kill me, buddy."

"Why not?"

"Because killing a cop is the best way to guarantee you're not safe anywhere in th country. And, when you get caught, you won't make it to jail. Not in one piece, anyway."

Laughing, he out the gun away and pulled out a hunting knife. "Let me show you something, Cop." Flipping it into the air, he narrowed his eyes slightly. In front of Ray's astonished eyes, the blade changed direction from up to down and back again, gaining momentum with every downward angle. "I learned I could do this back when I was a teen. Haven't lost a game of darts since." Dropping the smile, he muttered, "Ah, fuck it."

Suddenly, Ray was confronted with the knife, moving practically faster than the eye could see, coming straight for his head. Just before it hit him, the blade seemed almost to be knocked aside as it slammed into the crate of iPods next to him.

Torin's mouth fell open in stunned amazement. "What the bloody fuckin' hell?" Ripping a handful of coins from his pocket, he tossed them into the air, only to watch in horror as they fell to the ground. "What the fuck happened? Why don't it work?"

A voice behind him, dripping with contempt, said, "I happened."

As he spun around in fury, he was met by Tru's foot in the face. Standing over his unconscious body, she muttered, "You're under arrest, you worthless fuck."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Ray swallowed hard. "I didn't think you were gonna get here in time."

With a quick grin, Tru shrugged. "To be honest about it, neither did I."

* * *

Two full days had passed since they caught Torin Fergus. The days had been filled with fruitless interviews and a ton of paperwork. They had just come back from a quick lunch break when Tru's phone rang. "This is Ransome."

"Tru? This is Tris. Listen, the prison's ME called me in to confirm something for them, and I think you two should come see this."

Thirty minutes later, she met them at the prison entrance. Walking them down to the morgue, she tried to explain. "I've got a second toxicology panel running, but I don't expect it to be any different from what the first one reported." Glancing over at them, she shrugged, "Not that it matters. You're going to have a hard time believing this."

Narrowing his eyes, Ray asked, "Believing what?"

Opening the door to the morgue, she led them to a trio of covered bodies. "These are your suspects." Pointing to them in turn, she said, "Angus Sullivan, Devnet Cormac, and Torin Fergus."

Tru stared at the sheets in horror. "All three? How?"

Pulling the sheet from Angus' body, Tris pointed at the marks on his upper thigh. "They all share this pattern, in approximately the same location." Recovering the body, she looked at the Detectives with fear in her eyes. "I don't know how it got in, or how it got out, or even why it only bit these three, but they were each killed by the bite of a King Cobra."


	8. Chapter 8: Fade To Black

_**February 13-19, 2007**_

"A fucking cobra? This is LA, damn it, not fucking India!"

Interrupting her partner, Tru asked, "How positive are you?"

Shrugging, Tris handed her notes over. "As sure as I can be. Like I said, I'm running another tox panel, but I don't expect my results to be any different than their's."

Shaking her head as she read through the notes, Tru swore under her breath. "How the fuck could a cobra even get in? Ray was right, this is LA. A diamondback I could see, but a cobra? It's not exactly like they're common around here."

Scratching her head, Tris shrugged. "Don't know; don't care. That's way above my pay grade."

Thanking her, they called the Captain as they walked to the cells. "You're not gonna fucking believe it, Captain. We need a CSU team at the prison." In response to his question, she grinned tightly. "Problems? That's one way of putting it. They're dead. Yes, sir, all three of the suspects. How?" Glancing at her partner, Tru shrugged. No matter how she worded it, the Captain was going to have trouble swallowing it. "As far as the ME can tell? Snakebite. Yes, sir. That's where we're headed now."

Closing her phone, she glanced back at Ray. "He wants us to get up to the cells and, in his words, figure out how the fuck a fucking snake got the fuck in to kill our fucking suspects."

"He's not happy, I take it?"

Laughing, she shook her head. "That's one way of saying it. I don't think I've ever heard him splutter before."

"You didn't tell him what kind of snake, I noticed."

"If I'd told him that, he'd still be inventing curses."

After an hour, during which they ran a cursory check of the three cells in question, the CSU team arrived and began their jobs. Heading out, Ray narrowed his eyes. "Did you see any way for something to come in from outside?"

"No, actually. Which means it came from inside. Which means...what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure, but I think we need to have a chat with the warden."

* * *

Hours later, they were back at the precinct looking through the information the warden had handed over. Unfortunately, there seemed nothing to find. There was nothing that even hinted at one of the guards being involved.

Dumping the list onto his desk, Ray closed his eyes and stretched his neck. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he looked at his partner. "I think we're coming at this from the wrong direction, Tru." Rubbing his healed but still tender shoulder, he pulled up the arrest files on Torin Fergus, Devnet Cormac and Angus Sullivan. "I think we need to look for what they had in common."

"Which part? The fact that they were Irish? The fact that they were criminals? The fact that they all had special abilities? Or the fact that I stopped all of them by taking stealing those abilities?"

With a half smile, he started pulling up all the information they had. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Maybe."

Tru pulled out her notebook, flipped to the last page, and started writing. "Okay; so, what do we know? They were all Irish criminals right?"

"Yeah, although the file indicates Fergus has been in the States for most of the past six years."

Making a note, she tapped her pen on the paper in thought. "Didn't he say something about us making life difficult for his boss?"

Narrowing his eyes in thought, he tried to remember everything the criminal had said before trying to kill him. "Umm...yeah, I think so. Something like that anyway."

Holding out her hand, she asked for his notes. Thumbing through them, she grinned. "That's what I thought. Angus was working for someone else as well. That leaves Devnet."

"No, it doesn't actually." Looking at the high dollar thefts, he shook his head. "There's no way she stole that just for herself. Remember how pissed she got when we started asking about who she was working for?"

Nodding quickly, she started thumbing through her own notes, and comparing them with his. "So we start looking for every connection we can find?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Over the next several days, nothing happened. If there was a crime syndicate, they were keeping quiet. The Captain approved the decision to concentrate on finding connections, and dispatched other Detectives to the handful of crimes that occurred.

As before, they spent nearly every waking moment together. A lot of the time they were alone, they practiced Tru's new ability, and tried combining the various abilities to see what could happen. The rest of the time, if they weren't sleeping at one place or the other, they went over notes and bounced theories off each other.

Six days passed before any movement was made on the case. Tru was attempting to combine her newest ability, something Ray had decided to call Dynamic Telekinesis after a similar ability in Suresh's book, with Dark Matter Manipulation. She had just succeeded in using the combination to move a small marble through a portal when her cell rang. Dropping her concentration, she picked it up. "Ransome."

It was one of the computer techs they had been working with. "Detective? I think we have something for you. Could you come to the lab?"

Glancing at her clock, she swore; it wasn't even 9 in the morning. "Yeah. It'll take a few minutes to get ready, but I should be there in maybe an hour?"

"Do you know where Detective Taylor is? I've been trying to get him on the phone, but he's not answering."

Grinning tightly, she said, "Yeah, I know where he is. Don't worry, I'll get in touch with him." Hanging up before the tech could ask questions, she shrugged and teleported into her bedroom. Stripping out of the shorts and teeshirt, she slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a deep violet blouse. Strapping her weapon into place, she teleported into the living room. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up."

Cracking open his eyes, he yawned widely. "What the fuck? I thought we were sleeping in today? Taking a day off?"

"Yeah, about that; one of the lab rats called me a few minutes ago. She said they had something for us."

Throwing off the blanket and standing up, he suddenly realized he was clad only in boxers. With a slight grin at his embarrassed expression, Tru left the room for him to get dressed. Several minutes later, he was in the kitchen wearing jeans and a dark polo. "Not that I'm arguing with not having to listen to her, but where's your mom been lately?"

Shrugging, she said, "I lent her some money; told her to take a week at the spa. I knew we'd be together more than she liked, and you're not the only one who gets tired of her single-note song."

At the computer lab, they were waved over by an attractive woman in her early thirties. "Over here, Detectives." When they reached her, she opened the file she'd been working on. "Don't know that this is precisely what you were looking for, but it's the only connection I've been able to locate between your dead suspects."

On the screen was a single phone number. Scratching his unshaven chin, Ray bit back a yawn. "I don't get it. This number's all you could get?"

Shrugging, the tech pulled up the three files. "It took most of the past five days to get that number. All three had multiple phones, listed under a variety of pseudonyms. That's what took so long; finding those accounts. It turns out, all three of your perps got multiple calls from that number."

Pulling out her phone, Tru dialed the number. The call went straight to voice mail. "Have either of you ever heard of Shayna Noel Industries before?"

Pulling up a search engine, the tech typed in the name. "Says here it's an import/export firm with offices here in LA, NYC and a half dozen port cities around the country. Headquarters are Ireland." Catching the sudden intakes of breath, she looked back at them. "Weren't your three all Irish?"

Nodding slowly, Ray thought quickly. "And Fergus mentioned stealing merchandise from some guy named McSorley in Cork. Good work...Lisa, right?" When she nodded, he smiled. "Can you give us an address for this place?"

Typing quickly, she printed out the information. "Why's that address look so familiar?"

Glancing at the paper, Tru's face darkened. "Because we've been there before." Handing the paper over to her partner, Tru swore. "It's the same fucking warehouse we grabbed Fergus in."

* * *

Several hours later, around 5 that afternoon, Ray and Tru pulled to a stop in front of the familiar warehouse. Glancing at her partner, Tru said, "Maybe we should stick together this time?"

Grinning, Ray shrugged. "Not a bad idea. Maybe we'll be able to figure out what the 'Urgent Shipment' on Fergus' note was." Tucking the warrant into his rear pocket, he opened the door.

After several minutes, they emerged into the same storage room where everything had gone down less than a week ago. The only difference being the place was completely empty.

Looking around in horror, Ray muttered, "What the FUCK?"

From behind them came a dry voice, thick with contempt colored by a heavy Irish accent. "Well now, I knew I'd be getting a visit soon. I didn't expect it to be from the very Inspectors who've been making my life such trouble."

Before they had a chance to react to the sudden presence of the man behind them, there was a sudden, explosive flash of light accompanied by a massive rush of air. They both collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.

* * *

Blinking slowly, Ray rolled over. As consciousness slowly returned, so did memory. Looking around, he blinked in horror. "Tru?" Standing to his feet, he fell back to his knees because of a nearly blinding headache. "Jesus!"

Carefully raising his head to look around, he realized he was completely alone. Slapping at his waist, he swore in frustration. He hadn't brought the radio in with him. "Christ, Ray. What are you, a fucking rookie?"

Glancing at his watch, he started to curse with feeling. It was past 10. More than five hours had passed. Holding his head with one hand, he worked his way back to the car. Falling inside, he grabbed the radio. Giving the address he said, "Send a bus and a search team. I'm wounded and Tru's missing." Barely getting the words out in time, he vomited as the world started to spin just before he passed out.

* * *

Blinking slowly to consciousness, Tru tried to roll over only to find the movement hindered by chains at her wrists and ankles. Muttering under her breath, she winced as what little light was in the room drilled into her aching head. Squinting, she realized that the room seemed unusually cold because she had been stripped completely naked before being strapped to the table.

Grimacing, she tested the chains carefully, trying to figure out how strong they were. "No need to do that, love. Even my strongest employee, and I must admit to having one or two of exceeding strength, would be unable to break free of those chains." Stepping into the light was the owner of that voice; the same voice she had heard just before the explosion.

The man who had captured her stood a little under six foot, and was slender without being scrawny. That, combined with his pale flesh and dark, nearly black, hair could have made him attractive. The look in his eyes, however, killed any purely physical attraction she might have felt. His eyes were cold, calculating and revealed something twisted, even perverted. Grinning cruelly, he said, "I'm afraid you will be staying right there until I move you."

Holding out one hand, he ran his fingers along her body, gently caressing her from inner thigh to cheek. He laughed as she cringed from his touch. Lifting his hand, he said, "I'm afraid I can't have you conscious for the move, my dear." When he snapped his fingers, she heard the same sound of rushing air as the light exploded around her. Screaming in agony, she lapsed into unconsciousness again.

* * *

"Luckily, it's a minor concussion. You should be fine in a couple days."

Shaking off the paramedic's helping hand, Ray stood up, holding his head with his hand. "Damn it, I don't have a couple of days. Whoever this maniac is, he's out there with my partner!"

"What did you see?" The voice came from the Captain, who had been in the first car to arrive and find Ray slumped in the car.

"Not a damn thing. I don't know what hit me, sir. I heard a voice say something about expecting someone to show up eventually. Then it seemed like the place exploded. When I woke up, Tru was gone."

"Are you gonna be able to handle it? You look pretty rough, and a concussion's nothing to sneeze at."

"Damn it, Captain. She's my partner!" His tone of voice indicated a slightly deeper feeling. The Captain decided he'd deal with that later. Right now, he waved the paramedic off.

"All right, Taylor. Let's get back to the station. Finding Tru's our priority right now. You'll be running the War Room- and your ass doesn't leave that room until we have things narrowed down to the point where you're not running all over the place with your head only half straight." Narrowing his eyes, he leaned into Ray's face. "Am I understood, Detective?"

Nodding, Ray handed his keys over. "Yes, sir."


	9. Chapter 9: The Game's Afoot

_**February 20, 2007**_

How many hours had passed? Midnight had come and gone with no new information. Ray sat in the War Room, resting his aching head and practically begging for movement. He needed to sleep, but couldn't allow himself to do so. Tru, his partner and possibly more, was in the hands of a maniac, assuming she wasn't...no, he wouldn't allow himself to follow that thought. She had to be alive.

Looking back through his notes, he tried to uncover the single fact that was missing; the detail that would tell him what to do.

He looked up as there was a knock on the door. It was the tech who had told them about the connection between the dead suspects. From the look on her face, the news couldn't be good. "C'mon in, Lisa. Have something for me?"

"Sort of, but I'm not sure how good the news is."

Closing his eyes in frustration, he nodded. "Go ahead."

"I did some digging once the call came in that things had gone wrong. Turns out that company, Shayna Noel Industries? Anyway, turns out the paperwork was almost completely false. Even though they've allegedly been an established concern for better than twenty years, there's nothing to indicate anybody'd ever heard of them more than about three or four years ago."

Opening his eyes, he scratched his arm thoughtfully. "So it's a front of some kind?"

"Looks like it, sir." Handing over the printouts she was carrying, she prepared to head back to the lab. "That's everything I was able to find. I'm not sure how much it'll help."

Shrugging, he thanked her and started looking through the papers.

"Looks like fun."

Glancing up, he swore when he saw Rita. "What the..." Glancing around guiltily, he closed the door. "Shit, Rita. What the hell are you doing here? I thought we said goodbye weeks ago."

Grinning, she smoothed her tight dress with one hand. "We did. Until now, you haven't needed me back."

Staring at her, he realized that she wasn't quite as solid as she had appeared the last time he'd seen her. Realizing what he was looking at, she laughed lightly and shrugged. "Yes. I'm fading. It happens."

Clearing his throat, he asked, "So, what exactly are you here for? You said I needed you back?"

Brushing her flowing black hair over her shoulders, she pointed at the paperwork Lisa had brought. "The answer, partly, is in there." As he thumbed through the files, she stood nearby. "Do you remember what I showed you earlier?"

Absently, trying to find the answer she was talking about, he shook his head. "Which part?"

Laughing, she held out a hand. He stared in amazement as his notebook seemed to flip open to the earlier pages. Glancing down, he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I knew that name sounded familiar." After capturing Angus Sullivan, he and Tru had looked through what they knew. They had encountered Shayna Noel Industries then, and wondered if it wasn't a front. Cursing himself silently, he shook his head. "We damn sure know it is now." reading further through his notes, he saw a single note that started his mind working overtime. "Wait a... Boss Likes Anagrams...if Shayna Noel is an anagram...what for?"

Picking up his phone, he called the lab. "Lisa? Start running a check for names for which Shayna Noel can be used as an anagram."

Glancing back at Rita he started to thank her when she held up a finger. "No need, Ray. I'll be back later; you're gonna need me." After she vanished, he started looking back through the papers in front of him. He was only briefly distracted by the realization that his notebook remained unopened.

After several hours, around 5, the phone rang. "Taylor."

Lisa's voice came over the other end. "What made you think of that?"

The tone in her voice made him smile. "Going through my old notes, I remembered we'd encountered someone associated with this group before. I take it you found something?"

"You could say that. I'll print it out and bring it up, but we had one hit. A name on Interpol's watch list; known for being involved in the Irish mob."

"What's the name?"

* * *

Swimming back to consciousness, Tru blinked in the sudden light. She was still chained to the table, but in an entirely different setting. "What the hell? Where the fuck am I?"

The familiar voice called from off to the side. "You are where, for however long I decide to let you live, you will now call home."

Turning her head slightly, she saw him. He wore a loose fitting white dress shirt and tight black slacks. He was seated in a comfortable chair, ornate without quite being a throne. Smiling sardonically, he gestured. "Meet my loyal friends. Thieves; murderers; prostitutes; your average collection of criminals from all aspects of our little society. As you are well aware, I have within my little group those with, how should I say it, extraordinary abilities."

Standing, he flashed a look around. "I have, shall we say, something of a knack for locating them. The ones I find useful, I approach. Those who accept my offers are granted positions of respect within my little organization. In exchange for their services, they are allowed to live like royalty. If they want it, they can have it; within reason of course. Unlike that fool, McSorley, I know precisely how to obtain loyal help."

The slight dizziness was passing, although not quickly enough for comfort. Blinking slowly, trying to overcome the lingering effects of what she assumed to be a concussion, she tried to buy time. "Who are you?"

His eyes, having seemingly warmed with his good humor, turned to ice. Their brittle harshness was matched by the tone in his voice. "There is no need to hide my identity, I suppose, as you will not leave here alive. Although I have pursued my goals using many names, the one with which I was born, and under which I will rule your American world of crime, is Nolan Hayes."

* * *

"What do we know about this Hayes character?"

A couple hours had passed since Lisa's call. It was a little past 7 now. Ray sat in the main chair in the meeting room. He had contacted both Anti Crime and Vice, and politely asked for any information they might have regarded the Irish mafia. They both sent several boxes of paperwork along with a few of their Officers to help him. Lisa was sitting with her laptop on the other side of the room. The parts of the table not covered in files held coffee and donuts.

Looking up from her computer, Lisa took a sip from her cup. "According to what I can get from Interpol, he was a bruiser for some guy named McSorley back in Cork, Ireland. He vanished from the face of the earth maybe ten years ago. They'd heard rumblings about a split in McSorley's group, so they assumed this guy got himself killed."

Breathing out an irritated sigh, Ray bit into his donut. He wanted to be out on the streets, hunting down the bastard who had taken Tru. Unfortunately, his common sense told him not only that he would be useless on the streets at the moment, but this way was probably quicker. It just didn't feel that way sometimes. "Can we trace any of his movements after he vanished?" Responding to a slight whisper in his ear, from somebody no one else could have seen, he squinted in thought, "Or for the ten or twenty years before he vanished?"

One of the Officers looked up from her notes. "Why before he left?"

"You're Anti Crime, right?" When the woman nodded, he grinned. "What's the worst group you're working on now?"

Blinking at the sudden change in subject, she brushed her blond curls from her face. "Dunno...probably Bad Moon. Why?"

Bad Moon was one of the worst now? He'd obviously been even more out of the loop than he thought. They'd just been getting started around here the last he'd heard. Shrugging, he said, "If one of the Moon boys broke from the gang, and managed to stay alive for any length of time, what would be your first thought?"

Thinking quickly, she flashed a slightly embarrassed smile. "That he'd made preparations before taking off."

Nodding, Ray glanced back over at Lisa. "You fhave anything for me?"

"Very little at the moment. I can probably find it, but it'll take hours."

He wanted to start cussing her out, but knew it wouldn't accomplish anything. The girl was doing a great job, and was already blaming herself for Tru's abduction; it wasn't her fault the search couldn't be done faster. Closing his eyes, he sighed in frustration. "All right. Get going with it."

* * *

Stronger than before, though still dizzy and weak, Tru met his gaze with one of her own. "Why am I here?"

With a cold smile, he shrugged. "As I mentioned, I have a knack for locating those who have unique gifts. Recently, I'm afraid, I was forced to execute three of my most trusted agents." Dropping the smile, he walked slowly over to her. "I was able to determine, when I rendered you and your partner unconscious, that you were the reason it was necessary." Grabbing her chin with one hand, he twisted her head around and whispered into her ear. "And soon, once you have been suitably shamed and humiliated, I will learn from you why I was forced to kill them." Roughly squeezing her breast, he ran his hand down past her navel, lightly tugging on her pubic hair. Looking up, he fixed one of the half-dressed prostitutes with an icy glare. "Mina, come!"

As she sauntered over, he gestured at Tru. "I want her bathed and shaved." Seeing her vicious grin, he answered it with a smile of his own. "Enjoy yourself, but do not harm her." Looking down, he stared into Tru's horror-filled eyes. "That will come in time."

* * *

It was past noon. Thankfully, the worst effects of his concussion had faded. Now, if they find anything, he can lead the charge to rescue his partner. As he stared at his notes, he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye.

Rita was back. With a smile she held up three fingers. Two fingers. One finger. Nodding, she pointed over to Lisa even as the woman looked up excitedly. "I think we have something, Detective."

Narrowing his eyes, he watched as Rita faded away, laughing silently. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. "Just call me Ray, Lisa. What've you got?"

Glancing at her computer screen, she shrugged. "I've been running a check for any variation on the Nolan Hayes name through about the past thirty years- figuring he started planning quite a ways before he left the group, right? Anyway, I've tracked down about twenty different warehouses just in California that are owned, wholly or partially, by a person who doesn't exist, but whose name fits the criteria to be Nolan Hayes. There's nearly a dozen just in and around LA."

Blinking in confusion, he leaned back in his chair. "So...do they belong to him or not?"

Shrugging, Lisa said, "Honestly? I have no way of knowing. There's nothing that tells me for sure this is him."

Rita, barely visible, was nodding her ghostly head. Her meaning was clear. Squinting, Ray thought quickly. "What's your gut say?"

"My...gut?"

Nodding, he saw the smile in Rita's face. It was one of the first lessons he learned from her. "Half of being a good cop comes from listening to your gut; that little place inside that doesn't seem to rely on facts. Some people call it intuition."

Blinking slowly, she thought for a minute. "At a guess? I'd say this is the guy. But I can't prove it."

"I can live with that." Frowning in concentration, he made a decision. "You said maybe a dozen just around LA?" When she nodded, he swore. "All right, if that's what we've got, that's what we've got." Looking around quickly, he pointed to three of the officers. "You three are coming with me. We'll grab three more on the way out." Glancing back over at Lisa, he said, "Can you give me a print of that list?"

Handing it over, she asked, "What do you want me to do now?"

Looking at the list, he grinned. "Work on making some sense of this. Try to narrow it down to the most likely."

* * *

Mina had been rough about bathing her. Tru's flesh felt raw, as if someone had used a wire brush on it. The icy water hadn't helped matters. Her breasts had reacted almost immediately as the nearly frozen water had been splashed over them. The prostitute had taken great pleasure in scraping the stiff cloth over the painfully erect nipples repeatedly, grinning wickedly at the quiet moans of pain.

Despite the humiliation of being bathed and groped in this manner, Tru refused to react. Her eyes remained fixed on a point in the distance as she drew her rage around her like a cloak. Slowly, the disorientation from the concussion faded and she was able to gather her thoughts and plan accordingly.

As she felt the electric trimmers press against her pubis, she began to gather her will to teleport away. At the end of the first pass, from pubis to vulva, she heard a startled gasp. Darting her eyes down, she realized the gasp came from Mina. With a trembling hand, the Hindi prostitute pressed a delicate finger against the area and shaved around it.

She knew what had caught the woman's attention. A small birthmark; a discoloration resembling nothing so much as a series of spots, small enough to have been left by the tip of a pen, arranged in a triangle pointing to her navel. She'd first noticed it years ago when, as a teenager, her first boyfriend had become fascinated with it. When she asked her mother about it, Delilah had simply commented it was a birthmark. What about it could so fascinate her tormentor?

Eyes wide with horror, Mina glanced over her shoulder. "Sir? There's something you should see."

Curiosity filled his eyes as Nolan left his seat and walked the length of the room. "What is it?"

"An unusual mark." The tone in her voice made it clear that it was important as well as unusual.

Bending down beside her, he placed his fingers beside hers and leaned in close. Tru barely had time to notice his hot breath on her shaved vulva before he was reeling back in horror. "Impossible."

Staring at her with something resembling fear, he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. "Only one alive has that mark... Unless..." Cocking his head slightly, he demanded, "How old are you?"

When she refused to answer his question, he backhanded her in the mouth. "Answer me, bitch! How old are you?"

Running her tongue over her bloodied lower lip, she said, "Thirty-one."

After several seconds, he began to laugh. "Bring in the girl!"

* * *

They had just performed a fruitless search of the second warehouse on the list. After giving the address for the next one, he slammed his door and gunned it. Almost on cue, Rita appeared beside him. Unsurprisingly, she was clad in the basic black jeans and white shirt that had been her favorite working outfit.

Swearing under his breath, Ray found himself pleased he had chosen to pair the Officers in their cruisers, leaving him alone. It would have felt strange to have anyone other than Tru in that seat anyway. "Can you give me a clue, Rita? I'm flying blind here."

Shaking her long hair away from her face, she apologized. "Sorry, Ray. I don't know where they have her."

Unable to contain his irritation, he swore. "God damn it, Rita. If you can't help, what the fuck are you here for?"

"Because, when you do find them, you'll need the information I can give you."

Holding back what he had been about to say, he shrugged. And sped his way to the next warehouse on the list.

* * *

A pair of men, grinning lasciviously, dragged behind them a nude and obviously abused teenage girl. Grinning broadly, he had them throw her in front of him. Pulling a long knife from his boot, he said, "Many in my family line, which stretches back to the ancient days of Irish nobility, have had a special gift. Although it takes many shapes, it has long had a uniting link."

Kneeling over the girl, he laughed at her gasp of horror. Looking back at Tru, he held up a single finger. "I told you I had a knack for locating those who are special. What I failed to tell you was I gained that ability less than five years ago. Shortly, in truth, after my escape from the clutches of an Organization I will revenge myself on later. Until gaining that particular ability I had to rely on common footwork. I sought those who were useful, in one way or another, and made them my own."

Laughing suddenly, he narrowed his eyes. "It was during one such search, shortly after making another ability my own, I stumbled across a young girl around my own age, sixteen or seventeen, walking alone in the dark. I was already excited by what I had already done, and she was a gorgeous young thing." Smiling with the memory, he caressed the girl on the floor under him with the hand not holding the knife. "I ravaged her repeatedly that night." Piercing Tru with his eyes, he let the smile drop. "How odd for that single night to have brought about this circumstance."

As the truth started to dawn on her, he nodded. "Yes. That mark is the sign of the men and women in my family who have the power. In the old days it was considered magic. Many today would also view it as such, although the group that captured me believed it to be natural."

Pointing to the girl beneath him, he said, "This girl, Alyssa, is the oldest daughter of the son of the head of the Ginobli crime family. They thought I was joking when I offered them a fortune to either retire or leave the country, whichever they decided. I originally took her as a way to prove my seriousness. Imagine my surprise when I realized I could, quite literally, kill two birds with one stone."

Rolling the girl onto her stomach, he rested his knee in the small of her back. "The nature of my birthright is such that I can take the abilities of others, and make them my own." Wrapping his hand in her dark hair, he pulled her head back and up, resting the blade against her throat. "I neither know nor care how it works, but as they die I claim the ability for my own."

Before Tru's horrified gaze, he slashed the blade, kept razor sharp for this very purpose, across her throat. Closing his eyes, he dropped the blade and clamped his hands to either side of her head. As she struggled to breath through her destroyed throat, he began to laugh. As she died his laughter faded, replaced by rage. His fingers pressed harder into the girl's skull as his rage built, the knuckles turning white under the stress.

Finally, several minutes after Alyssa's final gurgling attempt to breathe, he slammed her head into the floor and stared at his hands in horror and shock. "Nothing. How is this..." He stopped as a terrible realization struck him. Leaping to his feet, he ran toward Tru. "Tell me how you stopped the transfer whore, or I swear you will beg for death!"

Even as he reached the table where she lay chained, she teleported away with a sorrowful smirk. As he stared at the table in growing fury, one eye twitched slightly. With a deafening explosion, the table was destroyed. Spinning to face the stunned men and women in the room, he practically spat, "Find her! I want her beaten, bruised, bloody and broken! I want her barely living body brought to me BEGGING me to kill her!"

When no one moved, he raised both hand into the air. A massive sound of rushing air filled the room as his eyes seemed to spark. "Anybody left in this room in FIVE FUCKING SECONDS is FUCKING DEAD! FIND HER! NOW!"

* * *

The third warehouse on the list was also empty. Swearing sulfurously, Ray sped toward the next one. Suddenly, Lisa came over his radio. "Detective Taylor?"

Practically yanking it from the dash, he said, "Yeah, this is Ray. What is it?"

"This is Lisa. I've narrowed it a bit more."

Narrowing his eyes, he wondered what she meant by that. "Just how much is 'a bit'?"

"This isn't a complete guarantee, but I've narrowed the group down to the five he's most likely to be using to hold Detective Ransome."

Whipping the car to the side of the road, he reached through Rita's insubstantial form for the list. Pulling out a pen, he said, "Go ahead. Which ones are they?"

"What's your present location?"

Glancing at the list, he located the address and gave it to her. "Maybe five minutes out from that one. On our way to the next one on the list."

"All right, just a second." In the background he could hear a light typing as she entered the information into her computer. "Got it. I've put them in order of distance from your location, since I can't give probability assignments to them."

After she ran through the locations she considered most likely, he pulled the car back onto the road and radioed the new information to the Officers conducting the search with him.

As they headed toward the first address on the new list, he muttered, "Hold on, damn it Tru. Just hold on."

* * *

Tru appeared in an empty, darkened room somewhere in the warehouse. Automatically, she ducked into the rear corner and pulled a black shadow around herself, effectively concealing herself should someone enter.

She hadn't known, or particularly cared, what that poor Ginobli girl was capable of, but she had been well aware she couldn't allow Hayes to profit by her murder. Since she hadn't been able to save her, stealing her ability was the only alternative.

Closing her eyes in thought, she was stunned to discover what the ability was. She now knew everything around her. It wasn't telepathy, at least not in any form she was aware of. Instead, it was almost like a mental map. She could, for lack of a better way to describe it, see everything about her location; both the specific room she was in as well as the warehouse as a whole. More importantly, as objects and people moved to impact her directly, including approaching the room where she was hiding, they became clearer to her.

She had long had a situational and spatial awareness that stood her in good stead in the limited gun play she'd been involved in. This felt the same, but dramatically expanded on it. With a slight grin, she mumbled, "This could come in handy." The first order of business was some sort of clothing. She'd be damned if she was walking around bare-assed and bouncing-tits.

Standing, she smiled. After that, she'd pay her father a visit.


	10. Chapter 10: Endgame

_**February 20, 2007**_

Even while she stood to her feet, the door opened. Breathing quietly, she watched as Mina entered and flashed a light around. With an appraising eye, Tru measured the prostitute at roughly her own size. Dropping her concealing cloak, she smiled viciously. "Hello, Mina."

As the startled woman spun toward the sudden sound, Tru thrust out her clenched fist. A shadowy spear launched across the room, piercing the woman's forehead. After completing its lethal work, the shaft vanished and Mina's corpse toppled to the ground.

Stripping the woman, Tru rapidly pulled on the black halter, deep violet hip-hugging leather pants and thigh boots. Grasping the door with one hand, she closed her eyes and used her newest ability to check the area around her. Satisfied, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

* * *

Slamming his weapon into the holster, Ray swore as he sprinted to the car.

This had been the third warehouse on the revised list. And it had been empty, just like the others. Glancing at the clock on his dash, he growled with frustration. It was nearly 5 in the afternoon. The entire day was being pissed away while Tru was held captive.

Gunning the engine, he roared down the road to his next destination. Maybe this one would be it.

* * *

She had been sprinting through the halls when she rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. At the other end of this stretch of hallway stood one of the men she had seen in the main room. Rail thin, he was at least a foot taller than her own five-two.

Grinning widely, he moved toward her with a sinuous grace. "The boss wants ya alive, girly. He didn't say anythin' 'bout just how close to death ya could be. I seen some'a what he c'n do, so I figger s'long as yer breathin', he can heal ya much as he wants. Reckon that means I'll do my thing, th'n drag ya out t' him."

She watched in stunned horror as his legs fused together and his arms fastened to his sides. Within seconds, she was staring down the hall into the cold, black eyes of a giant, hooded cobra.

As he rapidly slid down the hall, she crouched and moved away from the wall. "So it was you?" Vaguely, she pondered the question of how he had gotten in. The only answer she could come up with was that the cobra was not the only form he could take.

As he slithered closer, he raised himself further from the ground, swaying with the motion. With a roaring hiss, the animorph attacked with the odd lunging strike peculiar to the form he had chosen. At the last second, she used her ability to slap him aside, causing the fangs to miss her by inches.

Grasping him just behind the hood, she teleported way. Reappearing less than a second later, she watched the reptilian form collapse. Glancing at the severed head she still held, she grinned. "I wanted to arrest you, but this'll work."

Closing her eyes briefly, she called up the power she had taken from Alyssa. Smiling, she tossed the head aside and called up a shadowy portal. Stepping inside, she vanished from the hall.

* * *

Drawing his weapon, Ray lead the uniformed officers to the front door of the fourth warehouse. Hoping this would be the last, he looked into their faces.

When they nodded, he kicked in the door and ran in.

* * *

She exited the portal in a massive storage room somewhere in the back of the facility. Careful to remain cloaked, she crouched against the wall and looked around the room.

Although all indications were this room was regularly use to store Hayes' largest merchandise, it was nearly empty. A flatbed truck, a pair of Lamborghini's, and half a dozen small crates were all she could see.

Closing her eyes, she almost smiled. He was coming, but he wasn't alone. As they entered, she reopened her eyes and prepared herself. Nolan stalked into the room first, glowering in rage, followed closely by two women.

The first was a statuesque, brunette beauty. Nearly six foot tall, she was built like a gymnast. That, combined with the red and black bikini, and the black stilettos, led Tru to mentally name her Amazon.

The second was blond and scarcely taller than Tru. Her black dress, slit from throat to navel and ending less than an inch down her thigh, barely covered a pair of breasts that nature had definitely not provided. Grinning, Tru dubbed her Slip 'N' Slide.

As the three of them spread out to search for her, she pushed away from the wall and dropped her cloak. "Don't waste your time. I'm right here."

Blinking in astonishment, Hayes stared blankly at her for a second. "Fascinating. I do believe I recognize that trick. Poor Devnet was quite accomplished at it." Narrowing his eyes, he thought rapidly. "So, as Father is Daughter, so to speak. You strip people of their power and make it your own, even as I do. However, unlike my gift, the death is not needed in your case."

Stepping back, he waved the two women forward. "I require that she still be breathing."

Smirking, Amazon raised her right arm, fingers clawed. Streams of liquid shot from her fingertips and palm. Less than a foot from her hand, the streams met, knotted together, and converged into a single, pulsing, liquid beam, larger and more powerful than any of the individual streams. A microsecond later, the beam leapt toward Tru.

At the same time, Slip 'N' Slide extended her arms from her side. With a vicious grin, she slammed her open palms together in front of her, aimed toward Tru. A sonic blast, barely visible as a swell of roiling air, exploded toward her.

* * *

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Shouldering his way through the door to the warehouse, Ray sprinted to his car. Tearing open the door, he jumped into the driver's seat and floored it even as he grabbed the list.

Swearing sulfurously, he glanced at the list and then dumped it in back. This was the fourth warehouse from the revised list. It was the seventh warehouse he'd checked since hitting the road.

Glancing at the clock, he kept swearing even as he flipped on the lights and pushed even harder. Time was running out for Tru.

* * *

The sonic blast was outracing the apparent beam of plasma. Throwing herself to the ground, Tru watched the blast pass over her and smash into the wall. Rolling toward the destroyed wall, she grabbed a handful of pieces even as she came to her feet. Squinting with the effort, she forced the plasma beam to alter trajectory, slamming into Slip 'N' Slide's head.

When the beam connected, Tru watched in disgust as it seemed to surround the head. A second later, Slip 'N' Slide's skull seemed to explode. Even as the beam destroyed it's unintended target, Tru dropped all but four of the chunks she had scooped up. Those she threw as hard as she could, bouncing them around in the air until they were practically a blur. Then she changed their direction one last time. With a satisfied nod, she watched as the ballistic pieces of wall smashed into Amazon's chest, stomach and throat, killing her instantly.

Nolan Hayes stared in unblinking amazement as the women were killed in the space of seconds. After they had fallen, he blinked slowly as he stared at their corpses. As he raised his eyes to meet hers, Tru became aware of a quiet rushing sound filling the air.

His eyes seemed to spark as he held his hands out to his side. His clothing and hair ruffled in a nonexistent breeze. His voice lost the faux-civilized, charming edge as he growled in fury. "You will pay for that, bitch!"

Tru watched in stunned surprise as a light built around him, covering him and blocking him from her sight. Less than a minute later, the light faded, leaving a remarkably different appearance behind.

Nolan had covered himself in armor, apparently made of light. He carried a sword and round shield, both seemingly styled after those used by the ancient Romans, of the same substance. Looking around, he fastened his eyes on Tru. "I will make you scream for death before I finally deliver the blow."

As he walked toward her, she shook her head with a wry smile. Closing her eyes briefly, she held both arms over her head and called up the dark matter she controlled. It coated her in an impenetrable black cocoon. She could see out, but he could not see in. She watched as he stopped in confusion. Closing her eyes briefly, she shaped the matter into the armor she had seen every day in her dojo's showroom when she had taken martial arts. The armor of the samurai. As it coalesced around her, she shaped a katana for her weapon.

Only after she was fully armed and armored did she dismiss the cocoon. She saw the rage in his eyes replaced by caution and a hint of fear, and smiled. "I take it 'poor Devnet' never showed you this aspect of her power?"

* * *

Standing by the door, Ray grinned in relief. At least this warehouse wasn't abandoned. Nodding quickly to the officers, he kicked in the door and ran inside.

Once inside, he realized not only was the warehouse in use, but it was heavily occupied. Raising his weapon, he shouted, "Police! Nobody fucking move!"

A dozen men and women froze in their tracks. "Fawkin' 'ell!"

Ray didn't know who uttered the words, but they seemed to unleash hell. The men and women didn't stay frozen. In a variety of ways they attacked. The officers and Ray scattered for cover and returned fire.

The fight lasted less than five minutes. Bullets flew into the attackers, and various projectiles, beams, and liquids of assorted types, some definable but most not, were launched, blasted and fired toward the officers. Ray was injured when a woman fired an acidic substance through his shoulder; from her eyes.

Steadying himself against the wall, he switched hands and fired a round into her forehead. Glancing down, he swore. "Same goddamn shoulder!" There was a vicious hole burned through his right shoulder.

Shaking his head, he looked around for something to use for a bandage. Cutting off the sleeve from the woman's shirt, he sliced it into strips to use for padding and bandaging. When he finished, he looked around again. Each of the attacker had died, but so had one of his officers. Each of the survivors had various wounds.

As he was about to say something, he heard Rita behind him. "Ray? She's this way, and you need to hurry."

Thinking quickly, he looked at the least wounded officer. "Radio for backup and paramedics."

Nodding, the woman asked, "What about you?"

Grunting, he said, "That's my partner back there somewhere. What the fuck do you think I'm going to do?"

Spinning, he sprinted through Rita's nebulous form and into the hall.

* * *

They had been fighting for several minutes, with neither gaining an upper hand. Although he lacked her skill, he made up for it in pure, nearly maniacal, rage. She had barely managed to beat back his attack, throwing him several feet away with a hard kick to the gut.

Standing to his feet, Nolan glowered for a minute. Rushing her, he slammed his elbow into her face and slashed with his sword. Tru barely dodged the blade, but turned her movement into a spinning side kick that snapped his head back as he fell over. As he lay there, stunned, his armor and weaponry faded away.

Taking a deep breath, she ran over to him. Breathing heavily, she took the hilt of her shadow-katana in both hands and slashed it down toward his exposed throat..

* * *

Barreling down the hall, Ray turned the corner, barely missing the wall, and bounced off a massive torso.

Hitting the ground and skidding backward, he looked up. And up. And up some more. A gigantic man, at least nine foot tall, stood in front of him. Running his eyes rapidly over the man, he guesstimated his weight to be around six-hundred pounds, possibly more. The massive arms, chorded with muscle, led his eyes to a pair of hands he recognized. "Jesus! It was you?" This had to be the man who had ripped the vault door from the wall.

Grinning darkly, the giant dropped one meaty hand, grabbing him by the injured shoulder. Lifting him with seeming ease, he laughed and threw him down the hall.

Slamming into the ground, Ray lost his grip on his pistol as he rolled down the hall, stopping against the wall. Barely conscious, he stared in groggy horror as the giant began to walk ponderously up the hall toward him. In the distance, he thought he heard Rita screaming for him.

* * *

With sudden horror, Nolan rolled away from the descending blade. The blade smashed into the floor, causing Tru to stumble slightly.

Even as he rolled to his knees, he squinted briefly at the ground under her. With the brutal sound of tearing concrete, the ground exploded, slamming her into the nearest wall. He wiped the blood from his chin with an evil grin as the impact stunned her, causing her to lose her shadowy armor and weapon. Squinting again, he caused the floor near her to explode again. This one slammed her back against the wall as chunks of flooring tore through her borrowed clothing and sliced into her skin.

Lurching to his feet, he snapped his right hand out to his side, laughing as it transformed to a hideous talon, dripping a green-gray substance, with a vile oily sheen, from the tip. The drops hissed into the ground as they landed. Limping toward her, he laughed brutally. "And now, miserable whore, your abilities will be mine."

With a cry of rage he slashed the claw toward her chest. Rolling aside, she watched the talon slash into the wall almost without resistance. Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear it, she leapt at him and grasped the arm tightly, just behind the talon.

Closing her eyes against the vertigo, she drew a quick breath and teleported.

* * *

Blinking slowly, Ray shook his head in an attempt to stop the ringing and spinning. Staring at the behemoth lumbering toward him, he saw that his primary, the gun he received in Rita's will, was too far away.

Painfully, he drew the backup from his ankle holster. Taking slow, deliberate aim, he emptied the clip. The behemoth stood for several seconds before he fell with a massive crash to the ground.

Using the wall to lever himself to his feet, Ray closed his eyes against the sudden nausea. The concussion had never fully healed, and he had just made it worse.

"Ray!" Turning his head, he saw Rita's indistinct form hovering nearby. "You don't have time."

Stumbling back up the hall, he picked up his fallen weapon. "I know." Wincing in pain, he adjusted the bandage. "But which way?" The wall he had come to rest against led in two separate directions.

Drifting toward the left fork, she pointed. "That way."

Breaking into a stumbling run, he headed in the direction she indicated.

* * *

When she reappeared, Nolan's agonized screams filled the room. Grinning as if they were a symphony, she launched the talon toward him. "Here, ass-wipe. Have it back."

Using her Dynamic Telekinesis, she guided the weapon to his chest. He barely had enough time to throw himself out of the way before it carved through the space he had occupied and into the wall.

Keeping a running commentary of curses, he tucked the violated forearm under his good left arm. Fighting through the pain, he looked at the body of Amazon. Raising his left hand, he pointed and clenched his fist. "Kill!"

Amazon lurched to her feet, lifeless limbs moving in a bizarre and horrifying parody of life. In horror, Tru watched her right hand rise and unleash the same destructive beam toward her.

* * *

Ray rounded the door frame barely in time to see the woman fire the beam. He watched Tru throw herself out of the way.

She didn't quite make it. As the beam carved across the exterior of her left calf, he winced at the agonized gasp Tru uttered as she rolled to her side.

In horror, he saw the woman point her hand toward Tru's exposed back.

Rita appeared beside him again. "You have to kill her again, Ray."

Blinking slowly, he raised his gun but asked, "What do you mean, 'kill her again'?"

"Your partner already killed her once. Hayes has temporarily reanimated her for the purpose of killing Tru."

Accepting what she said, he glanced over at her. "What's to stop him from just doing it again?"

"There's only one way to guarantee he can't. Remember those ridiculous zombie movies we used to laugh at?"

Squinting in brief thought, his eyes widened when he realized what she was talking about.

* * *

Tru rolled to her knees, clasping the wound with her hand. She looked up at the sound of the first shot.

In astonishment, she saw Ray deliberately obliterate Amazon's head with six carefully placed shots.

Spluttering in rage, Nolan spun toward the intrusion. "Christ! You fucking cops never know when to fucking quit!" Narrowing his eyes briefly, he caused the wall against which Ray was steadying himself to explode.

In an instant, Tru watched Ray fly for several feet before rolling to a stop. Screaming, she tried to stand. "RAY!"

Laughing, Nolan started to turn back around. "No less than he deserved. You, on the other hand, shall join him only after I..."

Completing his turn, he realized she had disappeared. "Fuck! Where are you, girl? This hide and seek shit is getting old."

Behind him, Tru emerged from her dark portal. "Right here, ass-fuck!" With a vicious kick, she slammed the heel of her boot into the small of his back.

With a shout of pain, he dropped to his knees. Grinning viciously, she slammed the edge of each hand into the nerve clusters in his shoulders.

Limping around front, she knelt and clasped both sides of his head. In exhaustion, she bowed her head to his ear. "I should arrest you, Father."

Through gasps of pain, he asked, "Instead?"

Wincing at the pain from the multiple wounds she had received, she grinned, "You have the right to remain dead, mother fucker!" Seeing the horror in his eyes, she laughed. Drawing a deep breath, she teleported.

On the other side of the room, she looked up in time to watch his lifeless corpse collapse to the ground. Looking at the head in her hands, she grunted. Tossing it toward the body, she turned her head aside as it landed.

Her eyes fell on Ray's body. He lay unmoving and unmoved from where he'd landed. Tears welling, she stumbled over to his body. "Ray? Damn it, Ray, talk to me!"

Collapsing onto him, she prayed for a sign of life. Seconds later, to the seeming sound of distant sirens, she ceased to know anything at all.


	11. Epilogue: The Dream

_**February 24-25, 2007**_

The room swam slowly but steadily into focus. Blinking slowly, the woman gradually answered the more pressing questions.

Who am I? Gertrude Ransome.

Where am I? Forcing open her eyes, she forced herself to look around. Hospital.

That realization brought another question to her mind. Ray? Trying to sit up, the horror of the final moments she remembered rushed back into her mind. "RAY!"

Hands shot out, stopping her from getting up. Pushing her back down, a nurse checked the IV and monitors while she spoke. "You need to calm down, detective."

"Where's Ray?"

Taking out a needle, the nurse injected something into the IV. "The other detective that came in with you?" Smiling gently, the nurse slid the syringe into the sharps container. "He's fine. He came out of it a couple hours ago now." Nodding to a nearby bed, she smiled. "He's sleeping now, but he was asking about you."

Turning her head to the side, Tru fixed her eyes on his peacefully sleeping face as she faded back to unconsciousness.

* * *

Ray opened his eyes and looked around. He wasn't in the hospital any longer. With a smile, he recognized where he was. Rita had once spoken fondly about her dream home. A small cottage in the Caribbean, with her own private section of beach.

Without even looking, he knew where he could find her. Standing up, he glanced down. Instead of the hospital gown, he wore a pair denim shorts and nothing else. Stretching, he walked through the door and down to the beach.

Rita stood staring out over the water into the bright yellow sun. Wearing a white bikini, with a small violet sarong around her waist, she was stunningly beautiful. Without turning around, she laughed. "Hello, Ray."

Standing at her side, he stared over the crystal clear water. He still had decisions to make, and they weren't as easy as he hoped.

Lacing her arm through his, Rita began to walk with him down the beach. "Talk to me, Ray."

Shaking his head, he grinned. "I don't know what to say. This place is almost as lovely as you are."

Laughing, she reached up to kiss his cheek. "You always did know the right thing to say." Closing her eyes as they walked, she finally said, "I always loved this place."

Startled, he glanced down at her. "You've been here before?"

Shaking her head quickly, she ran her free hand through her luxurious curls. "Not physically, but this was my safe place. I came here every night in my dreams." Looking up at him, she smiled fondly. "Now, tell me what's bothering you."

Looking into the distance, he shrugged. "Reality, I guess. I came face to face with some things I never expected to see in my life. It's going to take a while to adjust my thinking to the new world I live in."

"That's not everything, Ray. There's one other thing bothering you."

Looking into her perfect face, he laughed. "I never could hide anything from you, Rita." Sobering, he glanced back over the waves. "I have to make certain decisions, and I'm not entirely sure what they should be."

Unlinking their arms, she turned him to face her. Taking his face gently in both hands, she forced him to stare into her eyes. "Do what you always do, Ray. Follow your heart. It's never led you wrong; and it never will."

With tears forming in his eyes, he realized she was starting to fade. "I never stopped loving you, Rita."

Fondly brushing his cheek, she smiled sadly. "Don't you think I knew that, Ray?" Looking back to the sea, she said, "Anytime you need me, I'll be here." Staring back into his face, she flashed another brilliant smile. "But, don't come looking. I'll know if I'm needed, and I'll come, but I don't expect it to happen. Our time is done. We saved your partner, and the bad guys are dead. It's time for you to live, Ray. And the dead have no place in that world." Brushing a tear from his face, she pleaded, "Move on, but never forget me my friend."

After a final, passionate kiss, the scene faded to white.

* * *

Her eyes opened again. This time she felt much better. "So my sleeping beauty finally woke up?"

Turning her head, she saw her mother sitting in the chair beside the bed. "Hi, Mom."

Shaking her head, Delilah Ransome brushed a sudden tear from her eye. Resting her hand on Tru's arm, her broken voice said, "I was afraid I lost you."

Smiling weakly, Tru said, "Can't get rid of me that easy." Swallowing, she glanced around. "Water?"

Picking up the pitcher, her mother poured a little in a paper cup and put the straw between her lips. After a couple sips, she pulled back. "Sorry. The doctor said you shouldn't drink too much at once."

Blinking, Tru shrugged. "How long have I been here?"

"You were brought in unconscious, apparently barely alive. They won't tell me what you went through, but you were beat to hell. Anyway, it's the 24th now, so it's been most of four days."

"Nobody told you what happened?"

"Not a thing. Your partner wasn't very coherent the brief time he was awake."

Something in her tone of voice alerted Tru. The bitter hatred was absent. After a minute's thought, Tru smiled. "You won't believe it, but I'll tell you everything."

* * *

After Tru finished, Delilah shook her head. "If I didn't know you wouldn't lie to me, I'd refuse to believe any of it. But..." Sinking back in the chair, she rubbed one hand with the other absently. "So the bastard behind all this was the same asshole that...?"

When Tru nodded, she grinned. "Well, the little fuck got what he deserved in the end." Closing her eyes, she suddenly started crying.

In alarm, Tru shot her hand out, resting it on her mother's arm. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Opening her eyes, she stared off to the side. "It's nothing, honey. I've carried that weight for years now. Hopefully, it's something you'll never have to understand. When you told me he was dead, it was like...I don't really know how to explain it." Grinning apologetically, she smiled at her daughter. "It's like the end of a nightmare. He's haunted my dreams for the last thirty years. Maybe now I'll be able to sleep in peace."

"So, is she awake?" The voice came from the door. Glancing over, Tru saw her doctor. Approaching her, he glanced through her file. "Glad to see you awake and talking finally. You gave us a bit of a scare."

Smiling, she asked, "When can I go home?"

Laughing, he shrugged. "I think we'll keep you for observation tonight. If everything keeps looking this good, you and your partner will probably be going home tomorrow."

"How is he?"

"In all honesty, he was in better shape than you were. Our major concerns with him were head trauma and a bad shoulder wound that he can't explain, but those are healing nicely. He has, however, been extremely worried about you."

Smiling gently, she relaxed into her bed. "I think I'd like to sleep now."

"Of course." Glancing at her chart, he nodded. "It's time for your meds anyway."

* * *

At his invitation, Tru walked into Ray's apartment with him. There was an odd feeling in her stomach; a feeling she wasn't quite able to define. Taking the drink he offered her, she sat in one of his chairs while he tried to compose his thoughts.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he tried to begin. "Tru, I've...umm...I've been... sort of... kind of... thinking about, you know..." He seemed almost to be sweating. She'd seen him face an armed assailant with more cool than he was showing now.

She had to take a quick drink to hide the grin that was forming. She was fairly certain she knew where this was going.

Swallowing hard, he leaned forward and started over. "Listen, I've been thinking a lot about that kiss, Tru. I don't know what it meant, but I'd like to find out."

Putting the glass down, she raised an eyebrow and stared at him.

Taking a deep breath, he bit his lip in frustration. "I know we both have problems, and I know there are rules about relationships between partners, but I think I'd still like to..."

He trailed off as Tru smiled and stood up. Drawing him to his feet, careful to avoid jarring the shoulder, she drew him into a deep kiss. "Shut up, Ray."

Breaking the kiss, he blinked. "What the fuck? Were you playing with me?"

Stepping back, she smiled. "No. I wanted to see how serious you were." Altering the smile slightly, she untied the belt at her waist, which opened the simple wrap dress she was wearing.

His eyes widened when he realized she was nude underneath. Carefully grabbing the waist of his pants, she tugged him toward the bedroom. "If you'll come along, I'll show you the difference."

* * *

_**We dream of hope, we dream of change. The fire of love, of death. And then it happens. The dream becomes real, and the answer to this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries, finally shows itself. So much struggle for meaning, purpose. And in the end, we find it only in each other; our shared experience of the fantastic, and the mundane. The simple human need to find a kindred, to connect, and to know, in our hearts, that we are not alone.- Mohinder Suresh**_


End file.
